Kick a Hole in the Sky
by Iced Blood
Summary: A boy named Seto lives at a throwaway orphanage with minimal funding. His brother, Mokuba, lives with him. Seto is convinced that if he just waits patiently enough, he'll eventually find his ticket out. The man who finally shows up to deliver him from perdition, however, is the opposite of everything Seto could have ever anticipated. This man's name? Pegasus J. Crawford.
1. The Hellenic Overture

_**I shouldn't be doing this. It's not an expedient use of my time, nor my creative energy, considering just how many stories I have which already demand my attention.**_

_**However, I have never been a paragon of proper time management, so why start now? It hardly seems appropriate.**_

_**Those of you who have never read my Yu-Gi-Oh! stories before, welcome. Those who have, welcome back. Did you miss me?**_

_**I always say, when I finish a story, "See you on the next journey."**_

_**Well, here it is. Most recently, I finished "Light a Candle for the Prince," perhaps the darkest tale I've ever penned. So I suppose that might be one reason why I've decided to select this road, for that next journey I was talking about.**_

_**Strap in, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen.**_

_**This should be an interesting one.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

The master is wearing red, the servant black, and somehow that says more about the both of them than it should.

The master's stride is quick, confident, his gaze straight ahead, and his surroundings have no control over his impeccable bearing. The servant, however, walks with a stutter and talks with a stammer, and every handful of seconds he looks around as though he expects to find some sort of apocalyptic exigency about which no one bothered to warn him, and that he fears—specifically due to his lack of proper preparations—the known world might just rise up and eat him, with teeth like gravestones and a tongue long enough to wrap around the moon.

The servant doesn't consider this strange, or a sign of social hypochondria; he's sure that casinos have this effect on a lot of people.

"Ah, sir? If you don't mind my asking . . . I thought you said you were going to visit the old orphanage today. Not that I'm specifically _encouraging _parenthood at your age. I'm not trying to speed things along in the slightest. But _why _are we here?"

The master chuckles, and a slow smirk slides across his young face. He takes in the bright, blinking, flashing lights of the slot machines; the neutral fluorescent lights of the ceiling. The master finds the psychology of casinos fascinating. The fact that there are no windows, no clocks, no sign whatsoever of time passing. The fact that the loudest and most generous slot machines are placed near the front entrance, like traps set for prey.

The fact that there isn't a single person in this land of revelry and reckless fun who looks in any way happy.

"I find a place like this . . . puts me in the proper frame of mind," the master says, with a contemplative sweep of his gaze across the fields of war. He spots a family, two adults and three children, trying to make their way to the buffet while keeping track of themselves in the throng. He smiles.

"I . . . uh . . . okay. But still, why would you want to do this in the first place? Why even _put _yourself in the right frame of mind? I mean, considering how suddenly you lost your—" The master levels a horrific glare, and the servant stumbles back a step as though it's struck him physically. He tries a different tack: "Considering the, ah, state of your life as it is, sir, do you honestly think you have time for a family?"

The master shakes his head. "That sort of thinking is contingent upon the idea that my free time will _expand _as the years pile on. I can assure you that that will not happen. I refuse to be one of those who spends his entire life waiting for the right moment, only to die before he finds it."

"While noble, this _still _seems like a rather rash decision. Parenthood isn't a hobby, sir. It's a commitment. You're committing your life to the molding of another. That's no easy task, and . . . well . . ."

The master eyes the servant somberly. "Trust me. I know what this decision means. I am fully prepared to accept the consequences. But understand: if I wait until I am ready, my family line will die with me. I cannot allow that to happen."

This results in an _almost_ companionable silence, as the servant finds himself unable to conjure up a new argument. The eccentric young man responsible for his paycheck every two weeks really _does _seem to have thought of everything. This is not just from the servant's own prodding, of course. Everyone on the house staff has been prodding and pressing him with questions ever since his announcement—three days ago—that he intended to find himself an heir.

A particularly loud slot machine prompts a startled screech from the servant, at which the master chuckles quietly, and the conversation finds itself at a new beginning.

"Sir? You said this place puts you in the right frame of mind. _What _frame of mind is that, exactly?"

The master grins toothily, and something flashes in his eyes. "Conquest."

The servant blinks, digests the words slowly and finds that they taste disconcerting on his tongue. "Sir? Since when is adopting a child a . . . conquest?"

The master stops walking and laughs out loud. "Since when is it _not_?"

* * *

**2.**

* * *

The Domino Children's Home is a hallmark of a forgotten age, a relic without a future and hardly a past worth mentioning. The master finds this charming, and a little concerning. He has often wondered if there isn't some _better way _to provide for lost and forgotten children than tossing them in a shack.

He sits, regal and unruffled, before the director of this particular shack.

". . . Excuse me?" the said director is asking now.

The master smirks, almost seductively. "I said, my good sir, I find it troubling that you are in a position of power here, considering your distaste for the children under your care."

"Distaste? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

The smirk disappears. "I mean you hate children, and it bothers me that you've made a living out of taking care of people that you hate. I would have similar misgivings about a Grand Dragon infringing on the NAACP. Is that clear enough for you?"

The director shoots bolt upright from his seat, as though mortally offended. The servant, standing to his master's right, immediately makes for the pistol he keeps in a shoulder holster beneath his coat. His nervousness is gone. The mission is on, and this is no place for extra emotional baggage.

But the servant knows, even as he makes for his weapon, that Gregor Kelvin is no threat.

Gregor Kelvin blows up like a bullfrog. "I _beg _your _pardon_?"

The master chuckles, and crosses one leg over the other. "Enough of this. You clearly aren't the sort to speak with me about _grander issues_. Let's put this in black and white, shall we? You tell me what I need to do, what promises I need to make and what papers I need to sign, to leave this building with one of your charges. If you do that, then I will not only . . . free you from one of your innumerable shackles, but I will also make a donation to this establishment. I should hate to have the rest of the youngsters living here thinking that I'm somehow playing favorites. I want _all _the orphans in my fair city to live better, more comfortable lives. Not just the one I happen to like." The master pauses. "And . . . of course, I should like to _thank _you and yours, for making such noble choices in your career paths."

It isn't Kelvin who speaks now, but a young woman with blond hair and thin glasses perched on her nose. She steps forward, taking unconscious control of the conversation from her superior, and says: "I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as you signing some forms and leaving with a child, sir. We're not running a pet store."

The master raises an eyebrow, and gestures invitingly to the woman. "Please. Enlighten me."

"There's an application process, training, and of course you'll have to be approved. We'll need to conduct a background check, a home inspection. It's all here." She hands the master a slim stack of papers that she's prepared. "It may be up to a year before one of our . . . charges leaves with you."

The master looks displeased, but not surprised. He flips through the pages in his hands quickly. "I see. Of course. We don't live in the Middle Ages, after all. There are procedures to observe. My apologies. Ah, you are . . . ?"

"Kristine Hathaway," the woman replies. "I'm a caseworker." She holds out a hand.

The master shakes it, smiling dutifully. "Thank you very much, Miss Hathaway."

He does not give his own name.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

The master spends the rest of his afternoon leisurely observing the children at play in the front courtyard. Most seem happy enough. They seem like children. Playing pretend, clambering over playground equipment, chasing each other.

It's after school, and energy is still running high.

The master soon tires of this, and he eventually notices that Kristine Hathaway has left the director's office and is now ushering a small gaggle of boys away from a smaller gaggle of girls. Clearly she is not _only _a caseworker. She seems to also be a caretaker.

The servant watches as the master takes a small book from his pocket and starts reading. He doesn't pretend to read; that would make the ruse ineffective. He reads in earnest, and when Kristine comes up to the master a minute or two later, he is so absorbed that he very nearly forgets the game he had decided to play.

"Are you religious, sir?" Kristine asks, noting that the book in the master's hand is a Bible. She sounds at once perfectly innocent, yet also suspicious. Master and servant both wonder how many prospective parents use religion as a way to get their proverbial foot in the proverbial door.

The master gestures with the Good Book to something that neither Kristine nor his servant can see. "Absolutely not. I read this whenever I start thinking that the true answers to life's questions might _actually_ be found inside a church. Invariably, I am reassured that this is not the case."

Kristine actually chuckles. "Is that right?"

"Reading the Bible is a leading cause of Atheism, I am sure of it." The master flips pages. "Just consider God's treatment of the Egyptians, here in _Exodus_. Simply because Pharaoh refuses to listen to Moses and Aaron, _all _of Egypt is punished? Yet here, and here, and here," the master points, "it is mentioned that God is responsible for the hardening of Pharaoh's heart. The Lord Himself is forcing Pharaoh to countermand Him, so that He may bring plagues to Egypt. That hardly seems . . . godlike." The master pauses. "Or perhaps it _does _seem godlike, and that's precisely the problem."

Kristine's mirth disappears, but not her interest. "I'm not sure I've heard that perspective." She thinks a moment, then makes a gesture for the master to follow her. "Come with me. I think you might want to . . . meet someone."

The master bows. "Please. Lead on."

Kristine walks, and the master follows. The servant follows the master.

Kristine calls out: "Dan! Dan, where's Seto? Is he home from school?"

A young man in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt looks over. "Hm? Oh. I, uh . . . think he just put Mokuba down for a nap. Why?"

Kristine gestures again. "I just thought he might like to meet someone."

"Why's that?" Dan asks, coming up to them. He glances at the master and offers a friendly sort of nod, which is reciprocated. "It's not often he 'might like to meet' anyone. You know that."

Kristine smirks. "Call it a hunch."

Dan eyes the master curiously, then shrugs. He turns, and they all watch as a thin boy, about ten years old or so, strides quickly into the courtyard with a thick book under his arm.

Kristine calls out: "Seto! Seto, honey, come over here a moment, please."

The boy turns. His blue eyes, nearly covered by a curtain of brunette hair, are sharp. Even from this distance, the master . . . _sees _something in them.

The master smiles.

The boy approaches; _he_ does not smile. "What is it?" he asks Kristine. "What do you need?"

The master bows low at the waist before Kristine can speak.

"Good afternoon. Seto, was it? May I call you Seto?" The boy shrugs. "Seto, then."

"What's this about?" Seto asks, impatiently but not impolitely.

The master holds out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Pegasus Crawford."


	2. Dramatis Personae

_**Thanks to everyone who gave the first chapter of this new venture a shot. This is new for me. I've never written an AU (divergent) story before, but after so many years I figured it was time to start.**_

_**This was one of the first to really catch my interest. If I could remember the story which planted this idea in my head the first time, I would. My apologies, but it's been several years. As it is, I must thank Schwarzd354 for encouraging me to go along with my take on it. Not that it took much encouraging, exactly—I already loved the idea—but . . . well, that's who I'm blaming for this.**_

_**Ahem.**_

_**Now, then. You can't have one brother without the other. So . . .**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Seto stares for a moment, like there's been a glitch in his programming, before he reaches out to shake Pegasus's hand. He says, ". . . Pegasus Crawford?" in a soft sort of voice, and he looks around at the others like he's seeking confirmation that he's heard correctly.

Pegasus Crawford's eyes light up. "Oh. Have you heard of me?" He asks this with honest humility; or, at least, his humility _sounds _honest, like he would never have even considered the idea that a little boy tucked away in a far corner of Domino City would have heard his name before.

"Here we go," says the servant, rolling his eyes in a friendly sort of way; he truly has let go of his nerves. There is something about this situation—now that he has been directly faced with it—that has calmed him. Perhaps it's the fact that Kristine has informed them of the time frame.

Perhaps Master Crawford isn't prepared for a child _now_, but in a year? With training and a long approval process under his belt? It's quite possible. At the least, jumping through a few hoops will truly test his willingness.

Pegasus reaches into a pocket and produces his wallet. He flips it open and shows his ID to the boy. "There you have it. In black and white . . . or, color, I suppose. So, tell me, Seto, where is it you've heard my name before?" He glances at Kristine and Dan with a wink. "He doesn't have the sound of someone who's simply incredulous about my first name. Plenty of people have to repeat it to themselves, but not with this particular inflection."

Dan chuckles. "Oh, we _all _know your name, sir."

Seto stares at the card in Pegasus's wallet, then scrambles to pull something out of his front pocket. Pegasus kneels down as Seto does this, and catches the boy's book almost nonchalantly as it falls forgotten from its owner's grip.

Pegasus flips his wallet back into his hand, pockets it, and hands the book to Dan as he waits for Seto to fish out his prize.

Seto comes back up with a small stack of cards. They're the size of standard playing cards. Each has a small piece of artwork on one side, with miniscule text beneath it and a title atop it. The card-back is a vortex of red, gold, and brown.

Pegasus grins. "My! So my little game _is _gaining in popularity." Seto holds them up like they're priceless artifacts, and Pegasus kneels down again so that he's eye-level with the boy. "_You_ have excellent taste, Seto."

"Well," Seto says, embarrassed, "I don't actually have enough to _play_. And . . . even if I did, I don't have enough for anyone to play _against _me." He bounces back almost immediately, with a happy sort of determination. "I'm going to save up, though!"

Pegasus frowns studiously. "Hmmm . . ." He stands back up and looks at the servant. "Croquet? Could you go to the car and grab something for me?"

The servant, now with a label like his master, bows his head. "Of course, sir." Croquet turns on a heel and walks away; he doesn't need further instruction. He knows exactly what his master intends to do with the rest of his afternoon.

"Um . . . Mister Crawford?" Seto says. Pegasus raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why did you come here? Not that I'm complaining, but it's not exactly common. Mostly people forget about this place. Maybe they hand over a dusty old soccer ball at the toy drive in December, but other than that . . ."

"Seto!" Kristine cries, a gentle admonishment that Seto probably doesn't even hear.

Pegasus chuckles. "Well, now. I suppose you have a point. Society seems to think of children as accessories. They attach to their parents, like earrings, and they either make an ensemble or ruin it. And naturally, what is the use of a pair of earrings without an owner to wear them?"

Seto's eyes are flinty, and he nods with a grimness beyond his years.

"But you see," Pegasus says, holding up a finger, "there's a secret to _my _particular brand of madness. I have always considered children to be people."

Seto blinks again.

Pegasus actually watches the child's mental calculations as he determines whether or not he likes this answer. Theories combine with memories, and they expound upon themselves ten thousand times in the handful of seconds during which this young genius is surprised.

Evidently the final calculations are positive, because a sunny little smile rises on his lips, and he laughs.

Kristine and Dan both stare at Pegasus as if to say, _You're a magician_.

Pegasus smirks at Kristine and Dan as if to say, _I know_.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Pegasus is seated at a picnic table, across from Seto, when Croquet returns with a leather briefcase; he sets it on the table without a word. Pegasus smirks sideways at it. He says to the boy, "What would you say to a little wager, Seto?"

"A wager?" Seto repeats slowly. "What kind?"

Pegasus opens the case with the flourish of a game show host, revealing stack upon stack of cards. "_Magic &amp; Wizards _is a very important project for me," he says, "and I'd very much like to spread it around as much as I possibly can."

Seto is sidetracked, staring at the treasure trove of cards, barely listening. "Uh-huh?"

Pegasus reaches over, spreads Seto's meager selection out on the table, and flips them each over so that they're face-up. "It looks like you're only keeping cards that fit a strategy," he says, gesturing, and Seto finally reverts his mental faculties toward listening. "You're already building a concentrated deck, even though you only have six cards."

Seto looks self-conscious. He shrugs. "That's kind of the whole point . . . isn't it?"

"That would depend. There are three types of customers for a game like this. There's the casual player, who might wait for theme decks to be released, and buy those instead of single packs. A surprisingly under-utilized resource. Then you have the collector, who buys packs to build a complete set, not to play. Then, of course, you have the _player_, and I think that's the sort you are. You want these cards to play the game, and personally . . . well, I find that to be the most important avenue."

Seto shrugs again. "It's a game. If you're not going to play it, what's the point?"

Pegasus beams at the boy like a proud father. "Precisely. So! Here's what I'm suggesting, dear boy. I want you to look through these. This whole case, here. I want you to build a deck, using whatever strategy you'd like. And then I'm going to challenge you to a duel, right here at this table. If you win—_if _you win, which won't be easy, then you can keep the deck. Not only that, but I'll build a few decks of my own, and I'll keep them here for other children to play as well."

Seto's eyes are sparkling, and Croquet raises an eyebrow, wondering if the boy might start salivating next.

"What do you say?"

For as smart as he seems to be, Seto is unable to formulate words. He simply nods.

"Well, then!" Pegasus claps his hands together. "I'll leave you to this. Wouldn't want me knowing your plan ahead of time, now, would we? That would be cheating."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

By the time Pegasus returns, a second boy has joined Seto on his side of the picnic table. Much younger, and smaller, this boy is sleepy-eyed and dressed in shorts, badly-tied tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt with a medieval knight stamped on the front. Compared to Seto's khaki pants and pale yellow polo shirt, he looks particularly disheveled; especially considering the state of his hair, which somehow resembles a cactus and a kitten at the same time.

He's alternating between staring at Seto, staring at the stacks of cards _around _Seto, and plucking out single cards from the remaining stacks in the case. He will look at one, frown seriously, then hand the card to Seto with a decisive look on his little face. Seto, for his part, will take each card he is offered, glance at it, and invariably set it aside.

As Pegasus approaches, the black-haired boy waves a card at Seto's face. "Nii'tama! Nii'tama! Look _this _one!" Seto, obviously paying very little attention and only doing it to placate his tiny companion, looks over. "It's _dragon_. This one _dragon_."

Seto smiles. "Yes, it is. See there, Mokie? Right there on top?" He points. "That says 'Baby Dragon.'"

"Bay . . . bee . . . dragon," the other boy says, grinning. He sees Pegasus, thrusts his little arm up to showcase his prize, and cries triumphantly: "Bay-bee _dragon_!"

"Indeed," Pegasus agrees. "And who's _this _little warrior?"

Seto smiles dotingly. "This is Mokuba. My brother."

Pegasus smiles as well. He holds out a hand. "Hello, there, Mokuba. My name is Pegasus. Nice to meet you."

Mokuba obviously has very little experience with handshakes. He stares, wide-eyed, then turns to look at his brother. "Pega-huh?"

"Pe-ga-sus," Seto replies, over-enunciating. He takes hold of his brother's hand, brings it over to Pegasus's, and works him through the machinations of an obviously foreign concept.

Pegasus accommodates both boys, and once Mokuba manages to replicate the gesture decently enough, he says, "That's a fine handshake, Mokuba. I'm honored. Say, do you know what your brother is doing right now?"

Mokuba nods enthusiastically. "Prepare for _battle_!"

Pegasus laughs heartily. "That's right. Well done!"

Mokuba grins again, obviously pleased with himself.

Seto's own smile hasn't left his face; in fact, it widens. This is a rare occurrence, if the looks on Kristine's and Dan's faces are any indication. They've migrated over to the table and are watching from a distance.

Pegasus says, "How are you faring, Seto?"

"Almost done," Seto says, now fully engrossed in the subtle science of deck-building again.

"Very good. I'll leave you to it." Pegasus points to Mokuba. "You be sure to keep an eye out. This is very important. We don't want any interruptions, now, do we?"

"Uh-uh. No rup-shun."

"In-ter-up-tion."

"In a _rup_-shun."

Pegasus makes his way to the other adults, who gawp at him. He says, "Charming boys, I must say. But for the little one to be orphaned so young . . . tragic. He won't even remember his parents."

"You . . . you . . . how are you _doing _that?!" Dan seems to be having trouble breathing.

"I don't think I've _ever _seen that boy smile so much," Kristine offers, more put-together than her compatriot but obviously no less shocked. "Especially when Mokuba's around. He's as dangerous as a mother hawk where his brother's concerned."

Pegasus chuckles. "It's a gift."

"_I'll _say. Seems like when an adult has something to say that actually _interests _him, he's downright _lovable_. Look at him! He looks . . . _happy_."

The mirth leaves Pegasus's face, and it turns stoic. Almost grim. "The fact that you sound so surprised is . . . troubling. Particularly considering the fact that you two seem to be the only adults in this establishment _interested _in this particular pair."

"Let's just say," Dan says, "that Seto hasn't made many friends."

"Issues with his peers notwithstanding," Pegasus says, "I didn't realize it was _his _job to ingratiate himself to his _caretakers_. Forgive my saying so, but that seems . . . rather backwards. Not to mention pathetic."

Kristine nods seriously. "You're absolutely right."

"I'm finished!" Seto calls out.

"_BATTLE_!" Mokuba cries, throwing up his hands and sending several cards flying into the air.

"Mokie!" Seto admonishes quietly. "Pick those up! Those aren't ours!"

Looking devastated, Mokuba whimpers: ". . . Sorry, Nii'tama."

"It's okay." Seto ruffles his brother's mass of ebony hair. "Just . . . pick them up."

Pegasus draws in a breath, straightens his jacket, and turns on a heel. "If you'll excuse me," he says, "I have business to attend to."


	3. The Field of Battle

_**Is it odd that I figure Pegasus would be good with kids? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it makes a lot of sense. He's a kid at heart, and honestly he's not that old when we meet him at Duelist Kingdom.**_

_**He's only 24.**_

_**Having just turned 28 . . . yeah, I'm gonna say he's pretty young. Especially considering in this story, if I've calculated the timeline correctly, he's only 19.**_

_**Anyway, here are some things that happened:**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Croquet has watched enough matches of his master's flagship game to know that Pegasus is holding back. Equally obvious, however, is the fact that Seto is extremely sharp for a boy his age. As soon as Pegasus sets two notepads on either side of the picnic table (to keep track of life points), and their decks are shuffled, the boy's entire demeanor makes a radical shift.

Little Mokuba had said that his brother was "preparing for battle." This is clearly true, because he looks like a field general, glaring down at his cards like he thinks they might step out of line if he doesn't keep a close eye on them.

Kristine Hathaway and her companion, Dan (Croquet discovers that his last name is Elliot), have joined Croquet as the second and third members of the audience for this inaugural match.

"So, all I can gather from the past fifteen seconds is that the object of the game is to flip cards face-up as quickly as possible," Dan murmurs thoughtfully. He glances at Croquet. "He's doing well?"

"Extremely," Croquet says. "Every time Master Crawford breaks through one of his strategies, he starts on another. He's made sure that every card in his deck is useful in at least two different ways, from the look of it. And . . . unlike most beginners, he hasn't just gone straight for absolute power. I mean, he's still using what I've heard called a 'beat-down' deck, but . . . yes. Remarkable."

Against any other player, Croquet is sure that the sheer speed of Seto's play-style would intimidate and fluster his opponent. The boy is obviously advanced, gifted even, and he wastes no time in laying out each move; his turns typically last a total of five or six seconds.

But Pegasus Crawford has no trouble keeping up. His movements are swift but deliberate, and after a while Croquet realizes that his master has been deliberately slowing himself down, and he further realizes that this is wearing down Seto. The boy gets gradually, but obviously, frustrated. Pegasus, meanwhile, is entirely unperturbed.

"Unfortunately," Croquet says after a while longer, "it seems that Master Crawford's won."

"How do you mean?" Kristine asks.

Croquet gestures. "He's managed to break young Seto's concentration. Look at his face."

"I get that cards are a psychological game," Dan says, "but I think it's a bit early to say—"

"_Damn _it!"

Dan sighs. "Never mind."

Pegasus gathers up his cards, reshuffles his deck, all with the slightest of smiles on his face. "So sorry, dear boy. Your strategy was impeccable. No doubting that. Was this your first duel?"

"No! Well . . . yes. Technically." Seto is sulking.

"Remarkable. You _are _a talent." Pegasus smirks. "But, you _did _lose. And, of course, that means you must accrue a penalty."

"You're keeping the cards," Seto guesses, subtly pouting.

"Hm?" Pegasus quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, you misunderstand me. As punishment for losing, dear Seto, you must do something _truly_ reprehensible." He reaches over, gathers Seto's cards, and shuffles them with the speed and confidence of a street magician. He hands them over. "You must accept my charity."

". . . What?"

"Take them," Pegasus says. "They're yours. I give them to you. You must accept this gift, which you did not earn, as punishment for losing. And if you wish to remove such a blemish from your conscience, well . . . I bid you good luck. Challenge me again. I'm sure I'll be seeing quite a lot of this place from now on."

Pegasus looks over at Kristine and Dan, and waves them over. He hands Kristine the briefcase of cards from which Seto built the deck he is now holding in both hands like it's a venomous serpent.

Pegasus says, "Keep these on hand, won't you? I'd like to see my cards in the hands of all the children here. Well . . . those who are interested, in any case." He looks over at Seto again. "By the way . . . if you'd won, I had intended to help you spread the word. But I do believe I'll leave that to you. If you want to practice, and improve your game, you'll just have to find someone else to play against in the interim." He smirks again. "You did _lose_, after all. Consider this the second phase of your penalty game: learn to socialize with your peers."

Seto looks up at the man with fire in his eyes. "You slick bastard," he murmurs slowly.

A silence builds.

Then:

"_What _did I just hear you say?!"

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Gregor Kelvin comes stomping up to the table, while another man follows him at a much more leisurely pace. The director looks like he's just gone thirteen rounds with a bottle of imported scotch, but that might just be the natural state of his face when he's angry.

Seto blinks, but doesn't flinch, as he looks up at a man he clearly detests. "What?" he asks in calculatingly innocent bewilderment.

Kelvin's companion is holding back, watching.

"That sort of language is _flagrantly _unacceptable, Yagami! How _dare _you disrespect a gues—"

"Allow me to stop you here, Mister Kelvin," Pegasus interrupts smoothly, rising to his feet. He is several inches taller than the man. "Please, do everyone a favor and don't make a fool of yourself. I won't have you using me as a platform on which to antagonize this boy. _I _will decide if I'm being disrespected, thank you very much." He turns a sideways glance at Seto. "I do believe your brother has found himself in a bit of trouble," he says, gesturing across the courtyard. Seto blinks, looks over, and almost squeals as he scrambles to rescue Mokuba from whatever torment he's found himself confronting.

"M-Mister Crawford . . . we don't _allow _the children to speak in—"

"Obviously," Pegasus interrupts, "because it would be quite troublesome if a _brat _were to use _your _turns of phrase against you, wouldn't it? Do _yourself_ a favor now, and stop lying to me. I don't like it. And while my corporation might not be as influential as I'd like it to be for the moment, I believe I have more than enough _resources _on hand to make your life a living hell if you continue to insult me." Something flashes behind the sheen of Pegasus's silver hair, which covers the right side of his face. "Do we understand each other?"

Kelvin doesn't speak again. He simply turns and scrambles away, trying desperately to hide the fact that he is scrambling.

At this moment, the director's companion makes his presence known. He is a tall, broad-shouldered man, black-haired with a finely groomed mustache and a chiseled face. He is, like Pegasus, dressed in red.

"Pegasus Crawford?" the man asks in a low rumble.

Pegasus bows with a flourish. "You've heard of me. I'm humbled."

"Quite a performance, I must say. I don't exactly make a habit of . . . socializing while on business matters, but you've managed to inject _some _amusement into my afternoon. For that, I must thank you." He holds out a hand.

Pegasus shakes it. "It was my pleasure, Kaiba-shachou."

Gozaburo Kaiba smirks. "Mm," he says, and walks away.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

On his way out to the parking lot, Pegasus stops and watches as Seto (his last name is apparently Yagami) administers impromptu first aid to his little brother, which amounts to little more than patting him on the knee and whispering to him until he stops crying.

Pegasus steps over. "Now, now," he says, "what's this? Has our little warrior been bested in combat?"

Seto flinches, and looks up. "He just . . . fell down."

"_No_!" Mokuba says, insulted. "Did _not_! Got _pushed_."

"Hush, Mokie," Seto says. "Don't bother Mister Crawford."

Pegasus sits on his heels and dangles his hands between his knees. "Well, now. That's quite a shame. But you know, Mokuba, the _very best way _to get back at a bully who's pushed you down?"

Mokuba blinks away tears, and shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

Seto is scowling now.

Pegasus smiles. "I'm sure your Niisama knows this already. He can tell you how well this trick works, I think. If you really want to show that bully who's boss, all you have to do is one simple thing." He rises smoothly to his feet. "Stand up."

". . . Huh?" Mokuba stares up at the man. "Stand up? Tha's all?"

"Absolutely!" Pegasus says, grinning now. Seto's scowl softens. "The _very best thing _to do to a big, bad bully is show them that they can't keep you down. So stand back up, little warrior! Look at your shirt, there. You're a knight. A knight in shining armor! Stand proud! I'm sure that would make your Niisama proud, too. He can say to the other children, 'See? You can't hurt _my _brother. He's stronger than you.'"

Mokuba's little face twitches with a slight smile. "Nii'tama? Proud?"

Seto smiles at the smaller boy. "I'm always proud of you, Mokie. But Mister Crawford is right. Stand up, and show them. You're stronger than they are. Aren't you?"

Mokuba stands up. "Uh-huh! I'm _knight_. Stronger'n _everybody_." He looks at Seto and shrugs. "'Cept Nii'tama."

Pegasus chuckles. "Of course. Well, now. I have to leave. You boys take care of each other. I'm sure I'll see you again. After all, if I'm going to adopt an heir to take over my company someday, I have a lot to learn." He winks. "I'm hoping Miss Hathaway can teach me."

"Adopt?" Seto repeats suddenly. Too suddenly. "You . . . you're here to adopt?"

"That, and a few other ventures. But yes. That's my primary objective, I suppose you'd say. Most people might think I'm too young to think about such things, but it's never too early to start securing the future. But anyway, I do believe I'm counting the chickens before they hatch. I haven't even filled out the application yet."

He turns away. The two boys can't see the sly smile on his face, but Croquet can.

"Enjoy your day, Seto Yagami. Mokuba Yagami. It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"Bye-bye!" Mokuba sings out, and Pegasus doesn't have to look to know that he is nearly dislocating his arm to wave for him.

". . . Goodbye, Mister Crawford."

Pegasus and Croquet make their way toward the parking lot again, in meditative silence. The servant's face is almost grim, while the master's face is gleeful. He has made quite the venture out of his social visit today, and the stack of paperwork tucked under Croquet's arm might just hold the key to a glorious future. Pegasus has a difficult time holding in his excitement, which is probably why Croquet is so serious.

When Master Crawford gets excited . . . strange things tend to happen.

Dark things. Twisted things.

Pegasus stops walking a full three seconds before they hear Seto's voice again: "Mister Crawford!"

He turns his head. "Yes?"

Seto fidgets, and plays with the hem of his shirt before he realizes he's doing it and stuffs both hands in his pockets. "Um . . . I wanted to thank you."

"Oh, don't worry, my boy. It's not like I gave you the cards as some gesture of altruism. I have high hopes that this place will do wonders for our sales figures." He laughs. "I have my eye on you, Seto Yagami. You have the makings of a tournament player, I think. Just remember to practice."

A beat of silence.

". . . I wasn't talking about the cards. Sir."

"I know."

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**A note: in the "Paved with Good Intentions" series, the old director of the orphanage when Seto and Mokuba lived there is called Gregory Kelvin, not Gregor Kelvin. Technically this was a mistake on my part, but I'm leaving it in.**_

_**It's a new story; it's a new world. Some things change.**_

_**Some of those things are small. Others are not so small.**_


	4. Great Expectations

_**I was originally going to save this plot point for later, but the story had different ideas. I figure the point of an AU story is to start diverging from canon as quickly as possible, so I asked myself:**_

_**What if Seto and Yugi had met before Seto forgot (entirely) what it meant to make friends?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"Um . . . hello? H-hi. Um . . ."

He is a picture in paradoxes. His clothing is cheap, frayed and doesn't quite fit right; however, he wears it with impeccable precision, and most of the time he wears it with untouchable confidence. His eyes are sharp, bright, vibrant; but when he tries to speak, his voice is quiet, soft, and nervous.

Despite the fact that he probably has a larger vocabulary than his teacher.

For most of the school year, Seto Yagami has sat in the front of the room, in the seat nearest the door; he never raises his hand to answer the teacher's questions, and he never volunteers to do anything; he must be expressly told to do it. He always leaves immediately after the bell rings, and nobody knows where he goes during recess.

Yugi was the first to notice that he has the best scores of any student in the class. Yugi, who is probably the only person _shyer_ and more socially awkward than Seto Yagami, but who hides it better simply due to the fact that he has a friend he can talk to at lunch.

Téa Gardner watches Seto approach Yugi as the bell rings for first recess. Her eyes narrow the slightest bit; she's watched other boys approach her diminutive friend to "play" with him, and they almost invariably force her to get into trouble with the principal.

"I don't know what you _expect _me to do," she's known to say. "They hit him, so I hit them. Of _course _I hit them harder. How else am I s'posed to make them stop?"

Thankfully, her mom and dad understand her reasoning—Dad's the one who _taught _her to think like that—so she hasn't _really _gotten in trouble at home. Whenever the principal calls them, they talk about "how hard it is to raise such a spirited little girl," and they promise to do better.

Then they take her and Yugi out for ice cream.

So yes, Téa watches Seto Yagami, wondering for a long moment whether she's going to have to rearrange his teeth. Probably not, actually. His awkwardness looks genuine. He doesn't look like he's putting on an act so he can sneak up on Yugi later.

Yugi, ever oblivious and entirely too trusting, looks immediately excited that someone is talking to him. "Hi!" he says, grinning with his entire face. Téa wonders how much Yugi knows about this boy. She's heard that he used to go to a private school, but got transferred here because his parents couldn't afford tuition anymore.

She's heard that his parents are in prison. She's heard that he ran away from home.

She's heard that his parents are dead.

"You're name's Seto, right?" Yugi asks. He waves; again, like his smile, he doesn't just confine the gesture to one spot, but uses his entire body. His enthusiasm seems to infect the other, probably older boy; Seto's lips twitch upward into something that looks vaguely like a smile.

"Um . . ." Seto starts, then sighs through his teeth; he looks angry. "Listen, I was wondering . . . I just wanted to know if you . . . had heard of a game called _Magic &amp; Wizards_." At this, Yugi's expression changes, and Seto apparently takes this as a sign of grave offense. "I, uh . . . I mean, you always seem to have so many games in your bag, so I thought . . . maybe . . ."

"Have I _heard _of _Magic &amp; Wizards_?" Yugi asks incredulously.

Seto steels himself up, and puts on a grave face. Téa isn't much older than these boys, but she can't help but feel a maternal twinge of pride at the way Seto is handling this situation. He obviously has no idea how to approach the concept of being friendly. He doesn't have that . . . charming naiveté that makes it so easy for some kids to make friends; Yugi doesn't, either, for that matter, despite the fact that he's both charming _and _naive.

"Yes," Seto says.

Yugi lights up like a Christmas decoration. "You _bet _I've heard of it!"

A stunning little smile rises on Seto's face. "Really?"

"Yeah! Do you play?"

"Well . . . once. See, Mister Pegasus Crawford came to my . . . house. The place I live. And he let me make a deck of cards. But I lost when he challenged me, so he said I had to find someone else to play against, so I could get better and beat him someday. And I want to do that, because he let me have the cards I played with, even though he wasn't supposed to, and . . ."

He loses steam partway through, and only muscles on because he probably has a script in his head. Eventually, though, he realizes that Yugi is staring at him like he's grown extra legs.

He says, ". . . What?"

"You . . . dueled _Pegasus Crawford_?"

"Um . . . well, yes. But I lost, so I have to—"

"You dueled _Pegasus Crawford_?! Of _course _you lost! He's a _genius_!"

Seto bristles. "I could have won. He just . . . he tricked me. I lost focus."

Téa normally would have been worried, watching this, thinking that this boy had just happened to look up the genius game designer in charge of Industrial Illusions, to use as an _in _to get Yugi to lower his guard.

But there's something about Seto Yagami—something unnerving—that tells her: if Seto Yagami wanted to hurt someone, he just hurt them. This isn't someone who knows how to trick people. His face is too honest for that.

She decides to help this awkward little square dance.

She steps up. "Yugi forgets his manners at home sometimes," she says. "Yugi, you should introduce yourself to someone you just met."

"Oh!" Yugi looks embarrassed. "I'm Yugi Mutou. Nice to meet you!"

". . . Seto," the other boy offers, even though Yugi obviously already knows. He doesn't give his last name.

Téa wonders what that means.

Seto holds out his hand for Yugi to shake, which Yugi does . . . quite excitedly.

Figuring this is as good as she's going to do, Téa sits back down in her seat and watches the two boys try to maneuver themselves into a game of cards. Neither one of them comes right out and asks for a match, even though it's pitifully obvious that they both want to play. By the time Seto gets around to _starting _to ask, the bell rings and it's time to get back to his seat.

"You should come sit with us at lunch, Seto!" Yugi offers. "We'll play!"

This surprises Seto. Now _he _looks suspicious, like maybe _Yugi _is setting up some sort of ploy. But he eventually nods. "Sure," he says, and sits back down.

Téa figures that if she doesn't tell them to eat _first_, they'll both forget.

Rolling her eyes, she mutters, ". . . Boys."

But she can't help but smile.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"I hear you followed through with your plan to visit the orphanage today."

Pegasus Crawford glances up from his desk and eyes the stern woman warily. "I did," he says, noncommittally. "Did I not _say _I would?"

"Forgive my saying, sir, but you often announce grand plans that you never get to. I figured this would be one of them."

"If this is about that barista you tried to set me up with last month, you should have known _that_ wouldn't work out."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"She said my hair makes me look like a _poofter_, and spent the entire afternoon criticizing my clothing!"

"Well, sir, you might _consider _cutting your hair—"

"_That_ . . . will do. Listen to me: I have _no time _for someone as superficial as that, and you know it."

"Superficial? Surely you're joking. Have you _seen _what you keep around this place? All these toys and cartoon pictures and comic books. And you're calling _other _people superficial?"

A sudden, but undeniable shift in the air announces that Pegasus has left; Master Crawford has arrived. He stands up. "Listen to me closely, Fiona. You are a valuable member of this estate, and I _deeply _value your insight. But if I hear one more word about my needing to grow up and put the toys away, my tolerance will be at an end. I run a _toy _company, woman. This is my _job_. If you have nothing better to do than question me, I'd suggest you take the rest of the night off. Do we understand each other?"

Fiona St. Claire, realizing she's crossed a line, bows hurriedly and leaves the room without a word.

About ten minutes later, a new voice announces itself from the doorway. "You normally ignore her ribbing. If she's getting to you, sir, then I have no choice but to assume that you're feeling guilty about something."

Pegasus looks up from the stack of paperwork trying to force him into submission, and glares with his one visible eye. "Clearly," he says. "That orphanage needs renovation. _Heavy _renovation." He levels Croquet with a predatory look. "It's like walking into a Dickens novel. A malevolent dictator, forcing the young minds of today into his very specific little box, 'for their own good.' And only two of the youngest, most optimistic workers there are _actually_ looking out for their welfare. If this _were _a novel, or a movie, Hathaway and Elliot would fall in love, marry, and adopt those Yagami boys themselves. And the curtains would close on their first Christmas as a _family_."

Croquet smirks. "This is obviously not good enough for you, sir."

"It isn't." Pegasus growls low in his throat. "That man, Kelvin, needs ousting. Him and everyone cut from his cloth. Cut, then cure."

Croquet nods. "And that, sir, is why you are feeling guilty?"

Pegasus shrugs helplessly. "There's only one way to deal with a man like that."

Croquet sighs, bows, and says, "I'll . . . prepare."

Pegasus leans forward on his desk, tents his fingers in front of his face, and chuckles.

"You do that, Croquet. You do that."

Gold flashes from behind the master's hair.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Téa Gardner is a contemplative person at twelve years old, and right now she's contemplating just how much time Seto Yagami and Yugi Mutou will spend _talking _about cards before they actually get around to _playing _them.

She eats her lunch quietly, not infringing upon the moment, because there's something mesmerizing about just how quickly a single topic of conversation can suck two people into their own little world. Two of the shyest kids in school, talking so rapidly and in such clipped jargon that nobody else would have been able to understand them, even if they'd had a transcript to read.

About fifteen minutes before lunch is over, a swaggering boy whose name Téa has never bothered to learn decides to infringe upon this moment. He watches Yugi and Seto trade ideas and strategies for a while, then reaches out and sweeps a hand across the table and sends about thirty cards flying onto the grass.

"'Sup, _nerds_?" the boy asks with a clammy grin.

"Certainly not the average IQ of this conversation," Seto replies quietly, as he stands up. Téa blinks. Where had _that _come from? Seto quietly, almost meditatively, starts to pick up the cards. Yugi, meanwhile, alternates between staring at his new friend and staring at his old tormentor.

". . . Um . . . hi, Eddie," Yugi offers with a slight stutter. Obviously _he _has bothered to learn this boy's name. "We were just . . . um . . . talking about a game. Have you heard of _M-Magic_—"

"_No_!" Eddie shoots back, as though Yugi has just made an inappropriate accusation about his mother. "I'm not a frickin' _nerd _like _you_!"

"Clearly," Seto says, having collected roughly a quarter of the lost cards. "To qualify as a nerd, there's at least a _certain _level of intellect required." He looks at Eddie, his blue eyes blazing. He looks the older boy up and down, sneers, and says, "You don't have it."

"The _fuck _you say to me, nerd?" Eddie asks, beady eyes narrow and suspicious.

"I believe I said your mother should have gotten hold of better birth control medication," Seto replies smoothly, leaning back down and focusing on the cards again, "but I may be wrong. Something about your _smell _makes it hard to focus."

Téa normally would have stepped in by now, formed a human shield between her tiny friend and the older, stronger, meaner boy who seems so intent on terrorizing him, but she finds herself unable to move.

Unable to _think_.

A transformation has taken place.

"Say that _again_! Nerd!"

Seto sighs, stands straight, hands Yugi the cards he's picked up, and turns to face Eddie again. "I . . . said . . . go . . . fuck . . . yourself."

Eddie's first, and only, punch hits nothing but air.

Seto slips underneath the swing, quick as a whip soaked in grease, dives to the side, and sends a leg _slamming _into the backs of Eddie's knees. Eddie buckles, flails his arms around, and seems to start falling forward in slow motion.

Seto clamps a hand on the back of Eddie's head and _slams _him against the table.

Looking supremely satisfied, but also frightening, Seto looks around as Eddie crumples, unconscious, to the grass. He's surveying the scene. Checking to see how many other kids have seen this.

The answer is: plenty.

"Anyone else want to try me?" he asks, his normally quiet voice a veritable crack of thunder. Téa flinches. At the expected silence, Seto says, "Good."

He sits back down opposite Yugi, picks up a card, and smiles. "I think _Shadow Ghoul _has a lot of potential, if you use it right. You could probably build a whole deck around it, actually. Show me that magic card again. What was it? _Graceful Charity_?"

Yugi, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, nods dumbly. ". . . Uh-huh?"

The bell rings not long afterward, and Seto makes a point to adjust Eddie's bulk so that he's lying straight. He even lifts up the boy's arms and folds them behind his head.

"What . . . are you doing?" Téa asks.

Seto shrugs. "Now it looks like he just decided to take a nap. If he remembers what happened, he won't dare tell anyone." He gestures to himself. "I'm just a nerd. No way he's going to admit I kicked his ass."

Téa blinks. "You . . . you're . . ."

"_Awesome_," Yugi says, quietly.

Seto smiles. It's a lovely smile. Innocent, charming.

Dangerous.


	5. The Status Quo

_**This story, like any number of projects that I start, has turned out to be a bit bigger in scope than I anticipated. There's a lot more involved in this than I counted on, which on one level is kind of irritating, because the whole point of starting this story (even though I have plenty of others demanding my attention) was to have something easy to write, something light, something . . . simple.**_

_**I should know myself better by now.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

The nature of crime is . . . delicate.

"For instance," Pegasus murmurs thoughtfully, "consider the nature of our current errand. Is it intent that makes the difference? That makes it illegal? Is it a lack of permission?"

"I believe, ah . . . intent has a fair amount to do with it, sir."

Croquet has been standing in the same position, in the same far corner of the same unlit office, for the past three hours—with his arms clasped behind his back—and he looks like he would rather pull out his own teeth than be here any longer; but he has no choice. The master has spoken.

"And that, I suppose, would be why an assassination attempt is still a crime, regardless of the outcome."

"I would suppose the same."

"But consider this: suppose I am merely here to give a friend some much-needed advice? What is that called? An intervention? What if I am merely staging an intervention?"

"The fact remains that you fully intend to see a man dead by sundown, sir."

"I'm merely _hoping _for that particular outcome. Is it a crime to hope?"

"That seems to fly in the face of staging an intervention."

"Be that as it may," says Pegasus, eyeing the fingernails of his right hand as though convinced that some dirt has managed to sneak underneath them in order to spite him, "what I mean to say is, modern society seems quite obsessive when it comes to labeling things. Consider, Croquet, what my intent tonight would be called some hundreds of years ago. You might well call it divine providence. Am I not simply a servant of the old gods, blessed with their sight, such that I can see when a human being proves cancerous to his fellows?"

The master's language often reflects his mood. The more flowery his soliloquies, the more potent his rage.

"I suppose you're referring to your prized golden eye, sir," Croquet says softly. He feels a shudder go up his spine; he doesn't like to remind himself that his master is haunted by delusion. This is particularly troublesome every time he remembers that he actually doesn't have any proof that Master Crawford is delusional at all.

No more delusional than Croquet himself, that is.

Croquet has seen just what the Millennium Eye can do.

What it can see, and more importantly what it can make other people see.

"My prized golden eye . . ." Pegasus repeats, softly, to himself. He reaches up with his left hand, and touches two fingers to the golden symbol protruding from his left eye socket. "Prized," he repeats, as though he is testing the taste of the word.

The master is currently seated behind an expensive oak desk so impeccably presented that it's impossible to believe that anyone uses it to work. The entire office is a sham, a political statement. In Croquet's experience, a true _worker's _private space is a prime example of function as form. The higher up the corporate ladder one climbs, the more likely one is to find those who care more for their image than their productivity.

Invariably, people like this have perfectly organized desks.

In short, Croquet would have been far more likely to argue against murdering a man who worked in absolute chaos, because it would have implied an actual loss.

As it is, however . . .

The office's single door opens, and Pegasus Crawford leans back in the chair he's currently occupying.

Croquet thinks about reaching for his sidearm, but eventually decides against it.

There is, after all, no need.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"Someone's in a good mood today."

Seto Yagami schools his expression into something resembling its natural state; Kristine wonders if the poor boy thinks he somehow doesn't deserve to be happy. She's met plenty of children who think that way in her line of work.

Their families have been shattered. Their lives have been ruined. What possible reason could they have to be in a good mood? Smiling is a direct insult to everything they've lost.

"I met a kid at school who plays the game," Seto says slowly, looking at everything around him except Kristine's face. "His grandfather owns a little shop across town."

"Well, _that's _lucky, isn't it?" Kristine smiles. "Did you get to play?"

Seto blinks, tilts his head to the side, and looks like he hadn't actually considered that question until now. "Um . . . no. Actually. We didn't get that far. He told me about strategies and deck designs he's come up with, and we just . . . well . . . we didn't have time."

Kristine wonders if Seto realizes what this means. Has quiet, cynical little Seto Yagami made a friend? Has he spent a day at school just _talking _to someone his own age? Such a concept is doubtlessly foreign to this boy, who has a chip on his shoulder so wide and jagged already that Kristine half-expects it to make him bleed.

The only person at the Domino Children's Home with _more _bitterness woven into the cleft of his heart is Director Kelvin.

"What would you say to a mug of tea?" Kristine offers suddenly.

Seto finally looks at her. ". . . Okay. That would . . . that sounds fine."

Kristine feels as though she's approached her boss and asked him to lunch. Like he has such a thoroughly packed schedule that he has to consult his ledger for every little thing. She wonders when he will start calling his own principal to inform her that he won't be able to make it in today.

Seto stops. "Where's Mokie?"

"Hm?" Kristine raises an eyebrow. "He's down for his nap."

"I have to check on him," Seto says, and disappears before Kristine has a chance to say anything else.

Fifteen minutes later, Kristine steps into the room that Seto and Mokuba share with two other boys to find Seto seated in a chair, watching his tiny brother sleep. She hands the little genius a mug of black tea, which he takes distractedly. Without looking up, Seto says, "Could you leave, please? Mokie's a light sleeper."

Kristine sighs, puts on a long-suffering smile, and bows at the waist. "At once, Seto-sama," she says.

Seto finally looks at her again, without humor. He doesn't seem amused by her little jab, nor insulted. In point of fact, he looks imperial. As though he's simply relieved to find someone finally giving him the respect he deserves.

"Thank you."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"What the _hell _are you doing here?!"

The master raises his single visible eyebrow. "Some might say I'm doing your job for you."

Gregor Kelvin's eyes go wide, then narrow. His voice comes out in a slathering hiss, through clenched teeth. "My job is to sneak onto government property after hours to _stalk _people?"

Pegasus laughs. "My dear little idiot, please don't make more of this than it is. I'm hardly _stalking _you. No. Your job is to keep this place running in top shape. To ensure that the people under your command are able to do their jobs properly. A rather unfortunate truth has been made evident to me. To wit, there is a rather large and ugly obstacle standing in the way of this orphanage's true purpose: you."

". . . Just what do you think this orphanage's 'true purpose' is?" Kelvin demands stiffly. "What do you think you know of our work here? You can't be older than eighteen. You don't know _jack shit _about what we're doing here!"

Pegasus _was _smiling. Now, he is not.

". . . Gregor Kelvin, I think you _actually _believe that. My. That's a surprise."

"Don't fuck with me!"

"Don't _fuck _with you?" Pegasus stands, and leans threateningly over Kelvin's desk. "Firstly, Mister Kelvin, you would do well to keep that tongue of yours in _check_. You run a _children's _home. It's hardly in your charges' best interests to fill their minds and mouths with filth. Secondly, check your self-indulgent rhetoric at the door. This room is no longer your private cesspool. It is your hall of judgment. You would do well to put your best foot forward. If you have one."

Kelvin's throat works quickly, bulging with indignant fury. "You're insane. Get out, right now, before I call the police!"

Pegasus reaches over, rips the phone from its place on the corner of the desk, and flings it across the room where it shatters against the wall in so many splintering pieces.

"What the hell is your problem? Who _are _you?!"

Pegasus Crawford's grin is a savage grimace. "I am your deliverance. I am your Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Listen closely, Gregor Kelvin. I won't repeat myself. This is the _one _plot of land where the needs of children rise above the petty grievances of their elders. This is _their _palace. Your job, you pitiful insect, is to give yourself to them. And if they elect to feed on you, to pick you clean and leave your bones for the sun to bleach, then you'll let them do it with a song in your heart."

Kelvin's face goes slack. "You're a _lunatic_!"

Pegasus's grin softens, and his voice turns silky.

His left eye glitters like the dreams of a false god.

"May I take that as an indication that we don't see . . . eye to eye?"


	6. A Sable Cloud

_**Hello, everyone! Welcome to 2015!**_

_**More of a delay in getting this out than I anticipated, but I hope that I might be forgiven. I'm working out a number of different projects at the moment, and the fate of this particular story was in flux for a bit.**_

_**Here's the basic idea: I have decided to treat any new stories in the same method that I did for "Light a Candle for the Prince," the last story that I finished. What I mean by this is: I will not begin to post a new story until the story itself, or at least the current story arc, is finished. This will permit me a more regular update schedule.**_

_**This will be one of the major stories, I think, that I will post regularly while I work on anything new. Basically, it is my backup work.**_

_**Now, then. I suppose things ended on a cliffhanger last year. So what say we check in?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

By the time Pegasus Crawford makes another appearance at the Domino Children's Home, Gregor Kelvin is three weeks dead.

Croquet has had an unfortunate amount of experience in maintaining a calculated ignorance when it comes to dead bodies. This is to say that he knows how to maintain a poker face, which is made substantially easier by his ever-present sunglasses and the fact that, in all honesty, he's made his career out of _dealing_ with dead bodies.

Hiding them. Disposing of them. Making them.

Croquet doubts he will ever know how his employer came to the conclusion that three weeks was the proper amount of time to avoid the scene of his crime in order to rid himself of any suspicion, but he can't help but notice the apparent efficacy; no one eyes him strangely as he walks onto the grounds.

The master approaches Kristine Hathaway first. He says, in a tone of voice that Croquet knows beyond knowing that he's been calculating for days: "Good afternoon. It's been some time. I wondered if I could . . . speak with you."

Kristine smiles. "Yes? What can I do for you, Mister Crawford?"

"Far be it from me to hang a carrot in front of you all," the master says, "but I hesitate to donate to the cause considering the nature of its leadership. I can't help but think that you aren't thrilled with the way things are going right now, and I just wondered if there was anything I could do. Perhaps . . . someone who goes above Mister Kelvin's head? Someone who could ensure that I—what is it? You seem surprised."

"Oh, I . . . well . . . it's just that . . . Gregor Kelvin is no longer the director here, Mister Crawford."

"Oh." Pegasus manufactures a delighted look. "I . . . can't deny being pleased to hear that. Has he stepped down?"

"Not . . . quite. He's dead."

The delighted look sloughs from Pegasus's face. ". . . Oh. I see. Well, I suppose that changes things. Regardless of what I felt about the man, I wouldn't wish death upon anyone. And so _young_."

Had Croquet been a lesser—or younger—man, he may well have choked on his own tongue. He wonders how it can be that Kristine Hathaway does _not _see the psychopathic amusement glittering in Pegasus's only visible eye, at the irony of his current speech.

She clearly does _not _see.

"Yes. He _was_ quite young. Daniel is acting as interim director until a permanent replacement comes in." Kristine smiles, somewhat sadly. "But, perhaps this means there is a silver lining? You needn't worry about your donation."

Pegasus chuckles. "I suppose you're right about that." He waits, another calculation, before he says, "You'll forgive me if I assume the children aren't exactly hung up on the loss of their beloved leader."

Kristine shrugs. Her face turns neutral. "Death is always traumatic. It reminds us of our own mortality. But then, I suppose that only applies to the older set. Some of the younger children don't even understand that anything has changed. Others understand, but don't particularly care. Only a couple, sadly, seemed actually affected by the whole thing."

"I would assume that the Yagami brothers would belong to the first and second sets?" Pegasus wonders, with an idle sort of interest, which only Croquet can see through. Kristine simply nods. "How are they doing, if I might ask?"

The young caseworker's smile comes back. "It's a relief to find someone else interested in the welfare of those two. They seem to be doing just fine, since you ask. Little Mokuba is just as excitable as ever."

"And Seto?"

"It seems your visit did him quite a bit of good," Kristine confides. "Apparently he's been socializing at school. Something he's never bothered to do before."

Pegasus chuckles. "Excellent." He turns, slowly, without any particular urgency, to watch the front gates. A small, tan sedan pulls up. It parks almost perfectly within the master's line of vision.

A young woman with reddish brown hair ushers three children out of the car. A small boy with wild black hair and sparkling violet eyes. If not for the fact that his hair is quite a bit shorter, and that the boy himself is quite a bit _taller_, he may have passed for the little Yagami.

A girl, older than the others, dressed smartly in a skirt, high socks, and a turtleneck sweater. She has a butterfly pin in her brunette hair.

And, of course, looking disheveled and obviously out of his element, Seto Yagami his own self.

"Speak of the devil," Pegasus murmurs, and has a private chuckle to himself.

Yet another calculation.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

He'd found himself in the backseat of Missus Mutou's Corolla without any idea of how he even got there. The last thing Seto Yagami could remember was that he was running late after school. And somehow, Yugi Mutou took that to mean that he needed a ride home.

"It's fine!" Yugi had insisted, over and over again. "Mom won't mind! Where do you live?"

He couldn't figure out why Seto didn't want to answer, and kept insisting that Seto tell him long after even Téa had told him to knock it off. Téa seemed to understand more than Yugi did—Seto has found himself wondering if she knows that he is an orphan—why Seto didn't want to accept this offer, but she couldn't get Yugi to stop.

And then Missus Mutou had showed up, and heard the exchange, and Seto found that he couldn't even come up with an argument that sounded halfway logical when _she _started in on him.

So he'd had to admit that he lived at the Domino Children's Home, even though he'd done a rather impressive job of avoiding the subject ever since he and Yugi had met. Seto had prepared himself for a deluge of sympathetic glances and cooing and cawing; he'd found himself in such a bad mood, in fact, that some part of him had already started calculating excuses for never speaking to Yugi Mutou and his _stupid _friend ever again.

Except, none of that had happened.

"That's not too far from here," Missus Mutou had said, glancing off in the direction of the old, ramshackle orphanage. "Yes, that's fine. Let me take you there. I assure you, my car's a fair sight faster than your feet." She'd winked, then.

That, more than anything, would keep coming back up in Seto's mind.

She'd winked at him.

On the way to the Children's Home, Missus Mutou had turned into the drive-through of a fast food restaurant, and Seto had had no idea what to order when she asked him what he wanted, so he'd just said he didn't care, even though that was rude. But she hadn't seemed to mind. She didn't seem to mind much of anything. Neither Yugi's excitable commentary, nor Téa's snarky repartee, nor Seto's unconscious rudeness, seemed to bother this woman in the slightest.

So, that afternoon, he had eaten a burger and fries for the first time in his life, sequestered between Yugi and his chicken nuggets and Téa with her BLT; and he kept staring down at the kid's meal Missus Mutou had bought when she'd found out about Mokuba.

Who . . . _did _that?

Apparently, Natsumi Mutou did.

Seto had tried to insist that none of this was in any way necessary, and offered more than once to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way home. Eventually, she'd said, "I understand what you're trying to do, Seto. Trust me. You aren't inconveniencing me. By the way. Far be it from me to presume to teach you anything, but if you're concerned about being rude . . . it's ruder to refuse a favor than to accept one."

Seto had been silenced for the rest of the ride.

And now, back in the present, here he stands in the place he's supposed to call home, and Mister Crawford is back.

Seto Yagami finds himself so inundated with stunned confusion that he forgets that he wants to be angry. Which is fortuitous, since he doesn't even remember what he wanted to be angry about, anyway.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"You'd think your son were the boy's brother, not Seto."

"You noticed that, too? I've been thinking that all afternoon."

It is a natural defense mechanism for adults surrounded by children to gravitate to each other, which explains why Natsumi Mutou and Pegasus Crawford have become allies this afternoon, despite the fact that they are from different age groups, social circles, backgrounds, and probably don't share a single interest.

They have been seated at a bench, sharing tea and watching Téa Gardner march three boys through any number of games. She is apparently of the opinion that Yugi has forgotten what it means to hang out with friends, and has insisted that they _all _do something together. She permitted exactly one half-hour for _Magic &amp; Wizards_ talk—"nerd-speak," in her words—before she enforced this new rule. Just enough time, in other words, for Yugi to properly process that the inventor of his favorite new game was actually in his immediate presence, and was more than willing to sign an autograph for him.

Seto may have put up more of an argument if Mokuba hadn't been so excited about playing a game with Nii'tama and his new friends. Yugi, for his part, seemed unable to formulate words, and _wouldn't _be able to formulate words for a week.

"They're definitely cut from the same cloth," Kristine Hathaway says, approaching from the sidelines. "I can't help but wonder if that's what drew Seto to him in the first place." She glances at Missus Mutou. "He's very . . . introspective. He's been drawn inside himself ever since he came here. I think, when Mister Crawford suggested that he learn to commune with his peers, Seto instinctively sought out someone familiar."

Pegasus is rubbing his chin, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'm not so sure. You make a fair point, Miss Hathaway, but I can't help but think that young Master Yagami is a touch more complicated than that."

The children are currently playing a heavily-modified version of kickball. Yugi is by far the least talented athlete, and Mokuba seems to have no interest in actually following any rules, so the game eventually descends into a kicking competition between Téa and Seto.

Téa's finesse is slowly emerging victorious over Seto's raw power, but not easily.

"How long has he lived here?" Missus Mutou wonders.

"This coming weekend will make six months," Kristine says. "And he's changed more in the past three weeks than all the time beforehand." She looks at Pegasus. "Your one visit seems to have caused quite a turnaround."

"You flatter me. Destiny is not so superficially countermanded."

". . . What?"

Pegasus chuckles, leans back, and he suddenly has the countenance of a king in the presence of fools. For the slimmest of moments, the young tycoon's hair shifts just so; both Kristine Hathaway and Natsumi Mutou catch the barest glimpse of gold.

"Oh, never you mind," the master says loftily. "Just the ramblings of a lunatic."

* * *

**.**

* * *

**_You may notice that I've decided something about Yugi's hair. That is, it's simply black. Not black-gold-and-burgundy. My running theory is that he chooses to dye it later on, some time before "now" and the canon timeline. After all, he goes for a bit of a punk-rock aesthetic later on, what with his chains and collars and such. Much less of a jump, I think, to say he'd dye his hair, than it is to assume that he was born with three colors in his hair._**

**_This just so happened to make the image I have of Yugi in my head look . . . markedly similar to Mokuba. Which made an odd amount of sense, when I thought about it in the context of this particular tale._**


	7. Blood and Water

_**Aside from the obvious, I'm writing this story to learn. This is to say that, outside of the fact that it's fun to turn canon on its head and see where a fundamental shift might take us, I'm also trying to learn about the people involved.**_

_**I've never been much of a Téa/Anzu fan. This story seeks to fix that problem, because most of the time I end up not liking a character, it's because I don't "get" them. What better way to learn about someone than by working with them?**_

_**I'm also writing to learn about Pegasus. I've worked with him more extensively than I have with Téa, but I've never really given him free reign to do what he pleases. I've never placed him in a position of power. Here, he most certainly is.**_

_**I've written the Kaibas longer than I've written any other character, and this lends toward me thinking that I know everything there is to know about them. By tossing my favorite fictional siblings into a situation I've never even thought about before, I get to learn something new about them. After so many years, that's exciting.**_

_**And, lastly, this is the first story of my new Acknowledge Yugi's Mom movement. She has exactly one speaking line in the original Japanese anime (I believe), and other than that she basically doesn't exist.**_

_**I intend to fix that.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"Most of the kids here don't like it when Mokie's around."

Téa is sitting on her heels, staring up at Seto like he's said something blasphemous. "What are you talking about?" She turns her attention back to the bouncy little toddler and grins fit to burst. "He's just the _sweetest_ little thing! Isn't he? _Isn't he_?" She tickles him, and Mokuba decides that the proper response to such an act is to hug her; which, in Mokuba's mind, means tackling her to the ground.

Seto smiles sagely, and Pegasus Crawford isn't the only one to realize what that smile means.

"You've been looking after him for a long time, haven't you?" Missus Mutou asks. Seto glances at his new friend's mother, and looks confused. He nods, slowly, like he expects her to reprimand him. Like he expects to defend himself. But Missus Mutou just smiles. "Good. Good for you." Missus Mutou looks down at her son; Yugi looks back up at her, obliviously. "Boys need a strong male influence."

"He calls Seto 'Niisama,'" Katherine puts in. "That word might mean 'big brother' in the dictionary, but that's not what he's saying."

Pegasus smirks. "He's saying 'Daddy.'"

Seto's face goes red. ". . . Could we stop talking about this, please?"

Katherine laughs. "Of course. Let's not embarrass the poor boy." She leafs through a sheaf of paper in her right hand before tucking it under her arm. "Mister Crawford, thank you. You were . . . quite thorough. Things should progress smoothly, if this is any indication of how you intend to go about this entire process."

Pegasus bows at the waist. "Of course. It would only do to put my best effort forward." He glances at his servant and winks. "After all, I am dedicating my life to the molding of another."

"Oh!" Missus Mutou looks surprised. "You're looking to adopt, Mister Crawford?"

"I am. It seems . . . unlikely that I will marry again. So a child of my own blood is likely enough out of the question." Pegasus waits a moment. Then he says, "Then again, what's the saying? 'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.' A family of my own choosing seems . . . a better fit than one I end up _stuck _with."

Yugi and Seto both stare at Pegasus Crawford. In one voice: "He said it right!" Then they look at each other. "You know it, too?!" Then they grin like fools, and something unbreakable is formed.

Kristine finds herself, yet again, marveling at Pegasus Crawford's ability to work magic on the elder Yagami boy with the most obscure, simplistic, _random_ things.

Croquet is the only one who knows how, and he marvels at it, too.

Just not for the same reasons.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Nights at the Domino Children's Home are a space of timeless tradition. Each of them have their own rituals. Some brush their teeth before taking a bath. Some brush their teeth _while _they take a shower. Some absolutely must have their beds in perfect order before they can sleep; some flop onto the mattress without the faintest regard for where the sheets or the pillows even are.

In order to save space (this is what Seto told himself when he made this decision), Seto and Mokuba Yagami share the same bed. That's _their _tradition. It won't work for much longer, and Seto knows that he will eventually have to _force _his brother to sleep in his own bed—he's heard of cultures which don't do this, where sharing a communal space to sleep is perfectly normal, but he doesn't belong to any of those cultures; their customs seem foreign to him—but for now it's okay. He's only three, after all.

And besides . . . part of Seto is extremely selfish. A part that's deep inside himself, buried beneath most of what he thinks is important about himself, that just likes having his family nearby. Whether it's to comfort himself after a series of tragic and not-so-tragic losses—he will never forgive his "godparents" as long as he lives—or because it simply makes him feel better that Mokuba absolutely refuses to go to sleep for anyone except him, he doesn't quite know. Probably it's both.

He knows that this second reason is toxic, and that he shouldn't pay any attention to it; he also knows that the first reason is dangerous. But usually, when the lights go off and it's time to coax his brother to sleep, Seto is too tired to think through all these things that most adults think he's too young to worry about.

He bets that Mister Crawford would understand. Maybe Missus Mutou would, too.

"Nii'tama?" Mokuba's voice is quiet.

"Hm?" Seto's voice is nearly inaudible. "What is it, Mokie?"

"I like friends."

Times like this, Mokuba's verbal tics are heartbreaking. Seto honestly doesn't know if there's a missing word in that sentence or not. Is he talking about Yugi and Téa, specifically? Is he talking about _Seto's _friends? _Are _they Seto's friends?

Or does he just assume that "friend" is a word you use to describe someone who isn't mean?

"Mm?" Seto allows a slight smile onto his own face; he's on his back, staring up at darkness. "They were nice to you, weren't they, little guy?"

"Uh-huh! They're _nice_. And play _games_."

"Do you remember your new friends' names, Mokie?"

"Um . . . um . . . _yeah_. Um . . ." He clearly doesn't.

"Yugi," Seto says slowly, "and Téa."

Mokuba repeats the names to himself. "Yugi _boy_," he points out. "Téa _girl_."

"That's right."

"Téa older," Mokuba says. "She's like _you_. Smart. 'Tects people. She's funny."

"_Pro_-tects," Seto says. "Yes. She does. Make sure to remember their names, Mokie. You don't want to mix them up if—_when_ they come back."

"Yeah." Mokuba snuggles up against his brother's side; Seto wraps an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders.

"Go to sleep, Mokie."

"'Kay."

"Oi, Yagami!" Another voice injects itself into the silence. "Mighta noticed the lights're off! Mind shuttin' that _brat_ up?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Seto replies stiffly. "It's not like he'd already stopped or something scandalous like that. But please. Keep talking. Wake him up. _That'll _make things easier for everyone. Jackass."

"The _fuck_ you s—"

"Oh, for _Christ's sake_!" Another voice. "Whittaker, shove it up your hole. Yagami, stop antagonizing him. It only makes him louder. Now everybody shut up and _sleep_."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

After leaving the orphanage, Natsumi Mutou drives Téa home first.

Eventually, Yugi says: "Seto's pretty neat, huh?"

"Seems like he doesn't have much experience around other kids," Natsumi says, more to herself than to her son. "Or _adults_. When did you meet him?"

"He's been in my class. He plays _Magic &amp; Wizards_, too. Just like Grandpa! Ooh! Wait 'til he sees this!" Yugi fishes a card out of his pocket. It's a monster card from the game that seems to have taken over her father's life; Sugoroku insists that there are serious archaeological connections to this _Magic &amp; Wizards _game, but Natsumi wonders if he isn't just making excuses for himself.

As if he can't simply admit that he runs a card shop because he _likes cards_.

The card Yugi is currently admiring is a _Black Magician_, with Pegasus Crawford's signature adorning the bottom right corner of its face. It's Yugi's favorite card. To have it signed by the inventor of the game—and the artist responsible for the character's likeness—is the sort of thing that will cement itself in Yugi's memory for a long, _long _time.

"You'll want to see about getting that card framed," Natsumi says. "Something to keep it safe."

Yugi is nodding. "Uh-huh. Yeah. But isn't it _amazing_? I mean, I didn't think Seto was _lying _when he said he dueled Pegasus Crawford, but still! He was _there_! Right there, on the lawn! And . . . and . . . !"

"I remember," Natsumi says. "I was there."

". . . Why do you think Seto kept talking about how you didn't have to take him home?" Yugi wonders suddenly. "He kept saying it, over and over."

"I'm sure he feels like he's all on his own," Natsumi says. "You know what it means, that he lives at the Children's Home. Don't you? His parents are gone. Dead." She isn't sure if she should be so . . . blunt about this. But Natsumi Mutou has never been one to sugar-coat; not even with her own son. Yugi looks suddenly devastated. "When something like that happens, people usually shut themselves up. They defend themselves by distancing themselves. He's probably not used to people doing favors for him."

"But . . . then . . . like, wouldn't that make it _nice_? To have someone do something nice for him?"

"On one level, yes. But look at how he was with his brother, Yugi. He's in charge of his family now. The 'man of the house.' That's how he thinks. That means it's his job to take care of things. But he's still a little boy. He doesn't have any money, or any way to repay favors. So he was probably embarrassed."

". . . Oh. So, since he doesn't have a way to pay you back for giving him a ride, or getting lunch, he didn't want you to do it. So he wouldn't _have _to pay you back."

"Exactly."

Yugi looks down at his card and frowns studiously. "It must be lonely," he says eventually. "And _scary_. I mean, there are lots of adults at that place, but . . . they're not _hi_s. Right? So . . . they don't count. I mean—! I'm sure they do a good job and all. But still."

Natsumi nods.

They ride the rest of the way to the Turtle Game Shop in absolute silence.


	8. Among the Stars

_**I started watching Yu-Gi-Oh! when I was about thirteen years old. Ish. I watched the English version—Yea, Fear That Which is Eternally Malignant—and because of that, I got used to certain truths. Character names. The location of Domino City. The nature of the Millennium Items.**_

_**I have since learned that these things are not, in fact, true. The second series anime waters down the original manga in several major ways, and the dubbed version of the second series anime somehow manages to do it again.**_

_**This is all to say that I'm slowly incorporating True™ YGO canon into my work.**_

_**This chapter is, in fact, the first time I've used the name "Sugoroku Mutou" in a story based on the anime. For whatever reason, that feels important to me. Hence, why I have mentioned it here.**_

_**I'll trouble you no longer. Let us begin.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"You do recall, sir, that they told you everything could take more than a year to fully process. It's barely been a month. Aren't you . . . counting on things going your way just a little too fast? Have you even _looked _at any of the other children living there?"

Pegasus Crawford is a man whose gaze is somehow entrancing. Which is to say, it's much easier to talk to him when he isn't looking at you. Croquet often takes the time when his master is staring off into the distance—as is his wont—or else otherwise distracted, to say . . . contrary things.

Currently enraptured by watching the front gardens as he is, Pegasus isn't even vaguely _pointed _in Croquet's direction, which makes it much easier to say this. It isn't, however, easy. He can't help but think of a minefield.

". . . No fault of their own, I'm certain," Pegasus murmurs thoughtfully, "but none of the other children in this city, to say nothing of that orphanage, are remotely fit to take on the Sisyphean task of living with _me_." He turns his head, and Croquet can just barely see him wink. "Don't think I don't _know _that I'm difficult, Croquet. I'm a young upstart. New money. But regardless of that, I need an heir I can trust to take whatever I have, and build it into an empire tall enough to kick a hole in the sky."

"And you think Seto Yagami is that heir?"

"I _know _he is. That boy is destined for something great. I don't know what it is, but I intend to see it to fruition however I can. I see no reason why I shouldn't orchestrate things as well as I can to . . . well, not to sound barbaric about it, but _claim _him." The master's face stretches into a grin. "And his brother? Don't get me started."

"Pardon me? The little one is three years old. What could you _possibly _know about him?"

This question turns out to be the death knell for Croquet's flippant courage, because it causes Pegasus to turn around and look him straight in the face. His golden eye is gleaming. Seeming to laugh. "I know far more than you might think, my dear man. Trust me. Those two will take the world by the collar and wring its neck." He chuckles. "And I intend to help them do it."

"And, of course, if you claim your place as their father . . . whatever they do will be in your name."

Pegasus gestures dismissively. "I suppose. It's a nice thought, isn't it? Besides, dear little Seto is perfect for the type of life I can give him. Have you noticed how his personality molds itself to fit his needs? He's supremely adaptable, even at his age."

"Pardon me for saying so, sir, but I think you might be filling in blanks to suit what you want to see. He's adaptable, certainly. Smart. Quick-witted. But I think you might be getting your hopes up a touch too early. Again . . . it's only been a month."

Pegasus's expression turns soft, but somehow is made all the more predatory for it. He turns his attention back to the window at which he's been standing for the past two hours, looking like nothing so much as an old-age portrait of a medieval lord. And why not? He lives in a castle.

The master's gaze sweeps back over the gardens, and his grin turns private again.

He says, ". . . Is there any other way to hope, than for too much?"

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"No."

Miss Miller is stunned. She stares, blinks several times, looks around the room at the other students. It's like she needs proof, some second opinion, before she can admit what she's just heard. She schools herself up, frowns studiously, and says: "Show-and-tell isn't a game, Seto. It's a required assignment. You can't _abstain_."

"I just did," Seto says.

He has never spoken this way in class before. In hindsight, no one would be able to tell what it was that changed about him, what had caused this sudden upturn in dangerous nerve, but Téa Gardner knows what it is. Yugi Mutou knows what it is. They glance at each other, and Téa actually winks. Yugi smiles, hides that smile behind his hand, and tries not to succumb to a giggling fit.

Who, Téa wonders silently, could honestly blame Yugi for wanting to show off his new prize? He has a _signed Black Magician _now, something of which he is obscenely proud, and he had every right to expect his classmates to understand why this is exciting.

The fact that so many of their classmates laughed when Yugi brought his card in for show-and-tell, and the fact that Miss Miller _let _them laugh, is why Seto is suddenly grandstanding like this. That's the only reason that makes any kind of sense. Téa has been watching Seto Yagami for a month now, not just idly anymore but carefully, and he wouldn't jeopardize a grade for no reason. Sure, show-and-tell isn't _much _of a grade. "Come up to the front of the class and show us something you like" isn't exactly high science or advance mathematical theory.

It's a simple, stupid assignment to get kids used to public speaking.

But Seto Yagami doesn't _get _bad scores. Risking a zero like this . . . there's a reason.

Sticking up for Yugi is the only reason Téa can conjure up.

"Seto, come up here. _Now_."

"I refuse."

Miss Miller goes slightly pale. "Either you come up here and give your presentation, or you're going to the principal's office."

Seto finally stands up, grabbing his bag as he does so. He sidesteps his desk, turns to face the rest of the class, and bows low at the waist. This done, he turns to the door and leaves the classroom without another word.

The entire class sits in stunned silence for two full minutes.

Yugi is nearly biting through his lip to keep from laughing fit to rupture something delicate. Still hiding behind his hand, he turns to Téa and mouths: _He's awesome_!

Unlike last time Yugi proclaimed this, today Téa can't come up with a reason to refute it.

She smiles.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

This time, Yugi's grandfather is the one who offers Seto a ride home. This time, remembering what Missus Mutou said, Seto accepts without complaint. He bows, says thank you, and gets into the backseat with Téa. Yugi has claimed the front passenger seat.

Apparently, Yugi has been excited about show-and-tell this week, to the point that he told his grandfather _all _about it, because the first thing Sugoroku Mutou says when they get moving is: "How did it go?"

Yugi screws up his face into something that's trying to be nonchalant, and he says, "Not so good. They thought it was funny, I guess. Maybe I got _too _excited. Then Seto talked back to the teacher and everybody forgot about it."

Sugoroku gives Seto a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. "Is that right?"

Seto shrugs self-consciously. "I . . . well . . . she couldn't control her classroom. I didn't feel like dealing with it, so I refused to go up for my turn. She sent me to the principal's office. But anyway, only two of us go up on the day we get assigned. Yugi went over his time. I would've been up there for _maybe _a minute."

"Hmmm . . ." is Sugoroku's response.

Seto doesn't say that he didn't want to go up for his turn because he'd brought his dueling deck, basically the same thing Yugi had, and didn't want to look like he was copying anybody. Also, he doesn't say that he didn't want anyone to laugh at him. None of this is at the forefront of his mind; Seto doesn't have any conscious idea that he is insecure.

He truly believes that he did it to teach his teacher a lesson.

He won't realize the other reasons until tonight, when he's lying in bed.

Sugoroku eventually decides to let the topic rest at this, and says, "Where are we headed today?"

"I have to go home," Téa replies. "Mom's making her special chicken soup for dinner. She says it's time I learn how to make it, too."

"Aye-aye!" Sugoroku glances at Seto next, who hasn't the faintest clue why. "What of you, greenhorn? Have you seen my illustrious cavalcade of knickknacks and novelties?"

Seto stares. "Huh?"

"He's asking if you've seen our shop," Yugi answers. His eyes sparkle. "You should come by! We've got a _lot _of cool stuff! You'd love it!" He gasps, and turns his attention to his grandfather. "Ooh! Ooh-ooh-ooh! Can I show him my puzzle?"

Sugoroku raises an eyebrow. "It's your puzzle, Yugi. Your possession, and your responsibility. You can show it to whomever you please." He says this with the bearing of an ancient philosopher delivering a warning to his king, much more than an elderly man talking to a little boy.

"Yeah!" Yugi turns around, nearly strangling himself on his seatbelt, and grins at Seto such that every single one of his teeth is visible. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

"I . . . I have to . . . my . . ."

"You're worried about Mokuba, aren't you?" Téa guesses. Seto flinches like he's just been struck by soft-spoken, insightful lightning. "He'll be okay. Miss Hathaway takes care of him when you're at school, doesn't she? She won't mind. That's her job."

". . . Yes. She . . . she does. I guess you're right."

Yugi opens his mouth to speak again, but Sugoroku puts a hand on his shoulder to silence him. "If you'd rather go home, that's perfect fine. But you're more than welcome to visit. I hear you've put together a dueling deck from Pegasus Crawford's own collection? That's what Yugi said. I'd certainly like to take a look at it, if you wouldn't mind." He winks with exaggerated emphasis. "I'm a bit of an _enthusiast_, myself."

Seto blinks. "You, Mister Mutou? Really?"

"Sure!" Yugi's grin, somehow, grows even wider. "He's been playing since the game first came out! He taught _me_ how to play!"

An unconscious little smile sneaks onto Seto's face. And just behind it, a sharp gleam in his bright blue eyes.

"I'm . . . I want to beat Mister Crawford. He says I have to beat him, to earn the deck he gave me. Can you help me do that? Sir?"

Sugoroku Mutou grins like the Cheshire Cat; for just a moment, Seto pictures a younger man, resplendent in a midnight black tuxedo. The sort of man to put a notch in his belt every time his life flashes before his eyes.

"What say we find out together, young man?"


	9. Eye of the Beholder

_**I will be taking certain liberties when it comes to Millennium Magic. The rules aren't exactly set in stone, and honestly, I kind of feel like if you really try to hammer out each and every rule of a magic system, it kind of defeats the purpose of having magic in a story in the first place.**_

_**This isn't to say that there won't be rules at all. Just that, in some ways, they will be—as Captain Barbosa once said— "more what you'd call guidelines."**_

_**You'll see what I mean as this chapter wraps up.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

The Turtle Game Shop is a small, modest place. Its shelves are stocked with entirely too many different "knickknacks and novelties" to properly gauge them all in the quick glance that Seto gives them, but all the same the store has the atmosphere of one of those Mom and Pop general stores you'd find in old folksy towns; the ones that stay open to the public only because they're tourist attractions.

Yugi bounces into the shop with the bearing of someone who's long since forgotten that the store has anything interesting in it; to him, it's just home. He tosses his backpack onto a card table set in the middle of the main floor. Missus Mutou, who's been standing behind the counter, sees them all walk in and smiles.

"Welcome back," she says. She notices Seto standing there, staring at everything not in any kind of shock but in almost ravenous interest, and her smile widens. "And _welcome_. Hello, again, Seto."

Seto remembers himself, and bows slightly. "Hello, ma'am. How are you doing today?"

It's a stock response, canned and served because he doesn't know what else to say, but he knows—somehow—that it's dumb. "I'll be right back!" Yugi announces to Seto, making him flinch; Seto watches his companion bound over to a door that probably leads up to the second floor of the building, and he feels a sudden swell of panic.

Seto isn't someone who frequents new places very often; not if he can help it. He is a creature of habit. He has his routines, and he likes them. His days are regimented. Each hour has its place. He prefers it that way. Usually, when he _is _forced into a new arena, he has his brother to think about. The necessity of making sure Mokuba is safe, happy, and behaving properly keeps Seto's mind busy, so that he doesn't have to think about anything else.

Like how cripplingly awkward he feels, standing in the middle of a store without a penny to spend.

Sugoroku sidesteps the counter and takes his place there.

"I'm doing just fine," Missus Mutou says, as she starts to head to the same door that Yugi has disappeared through. "Would you like something to drink? A snack, maybe? Dad, _don't _ignore the customers. I'm not sure what you have planned for today, but I know you well enough by now."

Sugoroku waves dismissively.

"Um . . . tea, maybe?" Seto says.

Missus Mutou nods, and disappears.

Seto ruminates on the fact that this is the first time he can ever remember being—_anywhere _without his baby brother. Except school.

He feels a hot stab of guilt.

"Your brother is fine," Sugoroku says, leaning against the counter, and Seto flinches again. He stares, unblinkingly, at the old man. Sugoroku, for his part, winks. "You don't get to my age without knowing how to _read _people. Especially in my line of work."

". . . A salesman?" Seto asks, feeling clueless and hating it. This is why he doesn't like new places. But, like his insecurity complex, he doesn't know this consciously. All he knows is that he suddenly feels stupid, and nervous, and he wishes he'd asked to just go home. The Domino Children's Home isn't _much_, but he knows it. It's familiar. It's predictable.

"Safer to call me a gambler, m'boy," Sugoroku says, standing up straight again. He pulls at the straps of his overalls. "Told myself, years and years ago: if I ever lost, I'd better hang up my suit for some overalls and call it a day."

"A . . . gambler." Why does that make so much sense? "So I guess you lost, then."

Another _stupid _observation. He _really_ should have just gone home.

"Abso-tively! I never back out of a bet, even if it's with myself!" Sugoroku winks again. "So, here I am. Now, like I was saying, if you're worried about your brother . . ." He gestures to the phone hanging on the wall behind him. "Would you care to check on him?"

Has Seto ever mentioned Mokuba to this man? Téa called him by name, but did he ever _say _that Mokuba was his _brother_? Does that mean Yugi talks about him? Certainly it makes more sense than to assume that Sugoroku Mutou can read minds, but he feels the same sense of indignation, regardless.

He tells himself that it's rude to be offended by something so trivial.

"I think . . . Natsumi put the phone number around here somewhere . . ." Sugoroku starts sifting through envelopes and receipts and Heaven knows what else, from under the counter.

"I know the number," Seto says quickly. Then he blinks. "Missus Mutou . . . found the phone number for m—for the orphanage?"

"Just in case," Sugoroku says. "Go ahead and call. It'll put your mind at ease. Then we can see about training you up! You're aiming for the top, Master Yagami. Best we get started."

There's something . . . utilitarian about the way Sugoroku talks about Seto's "training." Seto suddenly realizes, in some part of his brain, that this old man is already fully invested in helping him improve his playing as a duelist. On the heels of that, he realizes that this old man, with no reason to care about him except that he talks to his grandson at school, is already showing more interest in him than almost any adult Seto has ever met.

Except for . . .

Seto smiles; it's a sad smile. ". . . Okay. I'll call. And then . . . we'll train."

"Just call me Mister Miyagi!" Sugoroku announces, and laughs fit to shake the floor.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

It's the first time Seto has _ever _done something after school, for himself, and that's why Kristine Hathaway has to tell the poor boy that his brother's doing just fine, even though Mokuba has been inconsolable for the past hour. How would it sound, she wonders idly to herself as she hangs up the phone, if the one time Seto goes off to a friend's house to play, Mokuba is absolutely miserable? How can she possibly do that to him?

She doesn't like lying, especially not to the children she is tasked to protect, but in this case . . . there's just no way to _not _do it. She has to let Seto have his own time, his own wants. She has to let Seto chase them. Shackling him to a responsibility that he shouldn't have ever had to take on . . . just isn't in her. Because she knows, more than she knows that her lungs are used to breathe, that if she tells him the truth, Seto will never do anything on his own again.

Kristine heads into the office that Dan Elliot has been using for the past week—the office she had once dreaded ever stepping into—and finds that Mokuba has quieted down. He's down to sniffling and kicking his feet around, looking like a puppy that's been put out in the rain.

"Are we done?" Kristine asks, raising an eyebrow at Dan.

"I think so," he says. "Mokuba. Are you going to behave?"

Mokuba nods miserably.

"We don't have to tell your Niisama about this, do we?"

Mokuba shakes his head. "No. No-no-no-no."

"Good. So, you're going to be a good boy now, aren't you? And when Niisama gets back, we're going to _tell _him that you've been a good boy. Aren't we?"

Another nod.

"All right, then." Dan gestures. "Go play. But if I hear _one more word _about you misbehaving, your brother's _going_ to hear about it. Understand?"

Mokuba nods one last time, vigorously enough to make his wild hair dance, as he squeezes out of the room and disappears behind Kristine.

Dan sighs. "I feel so _fucking stupid,_" He looks at Kristine. "We're supposed to be professionals, aren't we? Good with kids? That's the whole idea, right? Yet here I am, threatening to tell on a three-year-old, _to a ten-year-old_, because nothing else . . . _fucking _works."

"They're a special case," Kristine says. "We can't expect our normal methods to work with either of them. The simple fact that we've found _anything _that works is a godsend. Best not to dwell on it too much."

Dan sighs again, and cradles his head in his hands. ". . . Kind of epitomizes 'easier said than done,' doesn't it?"

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Pegasus Crawford sits in a high-backed chair like it's a throne. The room around him is so dark that the candle sitting on the table in front of him does nothing but illuminate just how dark it is. His eyes ache.

Both of them.

In this entrancing darkness, he can _see _the young woman he's been examining in his mind for the past few weeks. She's petite, with jet-black hair and eyes of an indeterminate color. Her face is smooth. Austere. She's dressed in jeans and a sweater.

She looks angry, but not in the way that you would expect a refined young lady to be angry. There's lightning in those eyes, and Pegasus can almost hear the thunder.

"I'm only doing my part to help," Pegasus says.

The illusory woman scoffs. "You tell yourself that," she says snidely, "but what is it, exactly, that you've done to help him? You give him a deck of cards, and you tell him things specifically to get his hopes up without any sort of payoff."

"I have every intention of following through with the promises I've . . . danced around," Pegasus says. Almost pleads. The smooth, suave quality that so many people notice about his voice these days isn't quite working with this woman.

"Oh?" She glares hotly at him, and this time Pegasus _does _hear thunder. "Is that why you haven't _actually _made any promises? Just in case you fail? If it works out, you get to sweep in like Santa Claus! And if it doesn't, no one can pin the blame on you! Is that how altruism works in your world, _Master _Crawford?"

". . . It has never been my intention to hurt your boys. I assure you."

The woman stands up from the chair his mind's eye has placed her in, on the opposite side of the table from his own, and she starts stalking the room. "There we go again, with intentions and promises! I'm looking at _actions_! And so far, all you've actually done is _fuck _with him!" She whirls around, looking like nothing so much as a mother dragon, with some unknowable cataclysm sizzling behind her teeth. "You listen to me, Pegasus Crawford, and listen _closely_!"

Pegasus feels a twinge of superstitious terror that he never would have anticipated. His entire body goes stiff as this ravishing, terrifying beauty in his vision levels a glare on him that's hot enough to melt the Ninth Circle of Hell.

"You've been digging around in my son's mind for everything you've said to him. You stole _me _from his memory. I know the measure of you, Pegasus Crawford. You're so drunk on your 'gift' that you've forgotten the meaning of boundaries. You sit here in your castle like some ancient king, pulling strings and laughing when your puppets dance. My boy has enough to worry about without some _jackass _in a fancy suit toying with whatever's left of his heart. Either you _man up _and put actions to your flowery promises, or I'll crawl right out of your skull and strangle you in your sleep. You, of all people, should know the danger of angering the dead."

She looks up, to one of the far walls of this dark room, and Pegasus's gaze is drawn—unwillingly—to the portrait hanging there. The man in the white robes. The man from Egypt, with the sea-storm eyes.

"Remember the pain," the woman whispers, in the darkest corner of Pegasus Crawford's mind. "Remember how it felt, to wander through dusty streets with no direction. Remember how it felt, when he promised to give you what you wanted, and all you got was pain. Remember that pain. Can you feel it? Can you _taste _it?"

Pegasus's hands grip the arms of his chair almost hard enough to crush them.

". . . Yes."

Yuki Yagami's ghost comes up close to him and leans forward, almost seductively.

"I can do worse. And if anything happens to my boys because of you . . . I _will _do worse."

Then the door opens, and there's no one in the room.

No one but him.

"Master Crawford," Croquet says, crisply, from the open doorway. "Might I ask what you're doing?"

"Oh," Pegasus says, wiping sweat from his brow, "you know. Just arguing with myself."


	10. Equal but Opposite

_**This is a short one, because I had less time than I anticipated to write it. Well, actually, if that were the only reason, I would have just delayed posting it. But another reason is because this section of the story didn't seem to need much.**_

_**A note: Pegasus's argument with Seto's mom in the previous chapter wasn't necessarily supposed to imply that the Millennium Eye can offer prolonged exposure to the "other side." To be honest with you, I'm not sure if that was her actual spirit, or a vivid hallucination. Personally, I lean toward the latter. But . . . who knows?**_

_**Millennium Magic seems to have the expressed purpose of screwing everything up. Blood magic usually does.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"Is this really something we should be concerned about? Master Crawford has _always _been . . . eccentric. He's an artist. It's in his nature."

Croquet doesn't gather the house staff together for private meetings. It isn't a matter of how often or how rarely he does it; he's _never _done it before. He works one-on-one with the individuals responsible for keeping the master's estate running properly, and has never had a reason to call in the proverbial cavalry all at once.

He isn't sure why he decided to make exception to that rule, and he knows in some part of his mind that he shouldn't have done it without having a very specific plan of action, but he couldn't help it. It was one of those acts that was already half-done before he realized he was doing it, and by then inertia was in full swing.

So, here he stands, in front of twenty-four people, with no idea what he's talking about. Only Fiona seems to have any idea that this is a problem; so far, she's managed to cover for his knee-jerk paranoia by acting as his personal sounding board.

Croquet is grateful to her, but he is also somewhat frightened of her; he can't help but read a subtle but ironclad warning in her demeanor: _I'll give you a hand, but you'd better use it properly_.

"This is more than a passing fancy," Croquet says, "and that's why I've called everyone here. I want you all to keep close eye on his behavior from now on." He decides to gamble; not everyone here understands that Pegasus's golden eye is anything more than a gaudy fashion statement. Better not to mention its corruption. "I worry that Master Crawford is leaping into this entirely too quickly." Here he goes. "Perhaps it's a reaction to . . . well, Lady Cyndia."

"Acting out his grief," Fiona guesses, "without any conscious understanding of it."

"Yes."

"Your concern . . . ?"

"My concern is that his façade will crack, and that it won't be just _him _who suffers for it. Whomever he decides to adopt may well get caught in the crossfire."

"The Yagami boy."

"Boys."

Fiona raises an eyebrow. "Two? He intends to take _both_ of them?"

". . . To use his words," Croquet says hesitantly, "'I would no more separate those boys than tear down Stonehenge. Some things are simply meant to stay the way they are.'"

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"He's been quiet entirely too long," is the first thing Dan says the next time he sees Kristine. "What's he been doing?"

"Seems mentioning his brother was enough to get him thinking," is Kristine's answer. "He's been in the play room, looking at those cards Mister Crawford left for us. I think _he _thinks he's making a deck. I'm pretty sure his only criterion is that the art is sufficiently colorful, but chances are he'll want to challenge Niisama to a game when he gets home."

Dan chuckles. "Should've known. We should've invoked the Niisama sooner." He draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and shakes his head. "I hope you're right. I hope Crawford decides to go through with this. He's obviously got his sights set on them, and considering just how much his advice is changing Seto's behavior . . ."

"Seto trusts him," Kristine says, "as much as he can trust anyone anymore. He'd _better _go through with this, or I might just wring his neck personally. He might be rich, but he's kind of lanky. I'm pretty sure I could take him."

It's supposed to be a joke, but Dan doesn't treat it like one.

"Speaking of rich . . ." Dan plucks a notepad out of his back pocket and glances down at it. More than once, like he isn't sure it's in his hand yet. "Got a phone call. Seems Pegasus Jareth Crawford, President of Industrial Illusions, has decided to follow through on that promise of a donation."

"Oh?" Kristine looks excited for roughly three seconds, then her face turns grim. "What's wrong? You look like you got an invitation to attend a puppy's funeral. Hardly the right attitude when someone decides to be generous, don't you think?"

Dan hands the notepad to her. "I stopped believing in Santa Claus entirely too long ago for this."

Kristine takes the proffered pad, looks at it, then looks at it again.

". . . Did you . . . double-check with him on just how many zeroes to tack onto the end of this?"

"Triple-checked. Why do you think I wrote it down? He says we'll have the check tomorrow." Dan pauses. "He also said . . . there was one condition."

"Which . . . is . . . ?"

"He says we have to spend at least five percent specifically for Seto's birthday."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"What would you do here?"

Seto studies the table like his decision will affect the lives of thousands. He glances up at Sugoroku, over at Yugi, then back at the table. This is no different than any other duel, he tells himself. The fact that an old man is testing him has nothing to do with the proper answer to this question.

Seto points. "This. I'll lose most of my hand, but so will you." He holds up a card from his hand. "Then I can just take my monster back from the graveyard."

Sugoroku hums deep in his throat, rubbing his chin. "Mmmm . . . yes. Yes, I can see where you'd come up with that. You're quick to abandon a strategy if your opponent throws the proverbial wrench into it, aren't you?"

"If I dwell on my strategy getting ruined or try to keep it alive," Seto replies promptly, "it only gives my opponent more time to put up defenses. Better to move on before they realize I've made a decision at all."

Sugoroku is nodding halfway through. He looks at his grandson. "You've certainly found a quick study, Yugi. I'm not sure if my _usual_ methods are going to work on him." He grins like the devil, and Seto suddenly feels a ripple of superstitious chill run down his back.

"You're going to use _that _deck?" Yugi asks, fighting a giggling fit.

"I think I haven't any choice." Sugoroku stands up. "Are you prepared to gaze deep into the abyss, Seto Yagami?"

Seto leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and raises an expectant eyebrow.

_I don't think there's any abyss you can conjure up that I haven't seen already_, Seto thinks grimly; he doesn't realize he's said this out loud until he notices the surprised, concerned look on Sugoroku's face.

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**With this update, the story has reached the 20,000-word mark. Not to imply that this is particularly important, but it still feels worth mentioning. This story has gained quite a bit of forward momentum, and I'm so pleased to see everyone's response to it. Glad you're enjoying this take on everything. It's been extremely illuminating so far.**_

_**I'm learning a lot, which I kind of anticipated, but what I'm learning, specifically, has surprised me.**_

_**Which, I figure, means I must be doing something right.**_

_**By the way: Pegasus's name in canon is just Pegasus J. Crawford. For all I know, he just tacked on a middle initial to make himself sound more distinguished. I opted to give him a middle name of my own choosing a while ago. Now, I'm not necessarily saying that the reference was intentional, but Labyrinth was one of my favorite movies as a kid.**_

_**So . . . you know. Take from that what you will.**_


	11. Keep Your Friends Close

_**It's been asked, according to the timeline I'm using in this story, how it is that Téa can be older than Yugi and Seto, if they're all in the same grade. The answer is relatively simple. Téa missed the cutoff date to start school in her district, and had to wait a year longer than Yugi.**_

_**It hasn't been mentioned in this story, but I'll mention it here: I use my own experiences, that is to say United States experiences, to flavor my YGO work. I'd rather write Domino as the Japanese metropolis that it is, but the sad truth is that I've yet to actually visit a Japanese metropolis. So, I write Domino City as though it's in the States.**_

_**So, the idea is this: here in my neck of the woods (if this turns out to be universal, then feel free to ignore my prattling; if not, well, here you go), you have to be 5 or 6 years old by a certain point in the year in order to start school. I assumed that this cutoff date, in the district that Yugi, Seto, and Téa attend, is midway through August. Yugi, having been born in June, made it in early. Seto (late October) and Téa (late August) did not. Hence, "this" year, Yugi is 11. Téa is 12.**_

_**Seto is about to turn 11. How did he make it into their year?**_

_**Obviously, he skipped a year. Or two. He's smart like that.**_

_**Okay. Logistics over. Let's begin.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

It's obvious that Seto Yagami learned a long time ago how to walk with his brother attached to him, since he doesn't even react when he steps onto the grounds of the Children's Home, and—after roughly sixteen seconds—Mokuba comes barreling into him and actually _climbs _up his body to settle himself against Seto's side. His little arms are linked around Seto's neck, and from the look of him he has no intention of ever letting go.

"Hi, Mokie," Seto says gently, rubbing the younger boy's back. "How was your day?"

"Good boy!" Mokuba trumpets, then leans his head against Seto's shoulder. "_Good_ boy."

"You were a good boy?" Mokuba nods emphatically. Seto watches as Dan Elliot approaches the two of them, looking tired but still smiling. "How _did_ he behave?" Seto asks, in a much more business-like tone.

Dan shrugs. "He about covered it. What about you? Seems _you _went on an adventure today."

"Yugi and his grandfather invited me to visit their shop."

Seto then goes into a play-by-play of the entire afternoon, sounding like he's giving a mission report to a commanding officer. Dan, for his part, listens attentively; this is what marks him as different compared to the other adults who work at the orphanage, something that he always considered just part of the job. He actually listens, not just to Seto but to all of his young charges.

Even Mokuba.

It's evening, almost dark, and Dan is pretty sure that it hasn't even crossed this young genius's mind that it's now October, and his birthday is less than a month away. It might not even have crossed his mind that anyone would have cause to _know _his birthday was less than a month away, because Seto Yagami is the poster child for orphans who defend themselves against tragedy by treating information as both armor and weapon; he would no more willingly tell a stranger his birthday than hand over his shoes.

Dan tells a particularly truncated version of the afternoon from _his_ perspective, covering up each lie about his brother's behavior with six different truths. He agrees with Kristine: it wouldn't do to tell Seto that Mokuba is a nightmare without him. But he also knows not to flat-out lie to this boy; Seto reads people much better than you might think, given his general social awkwardness, and he has less reason than most of the children here to trust adults. Which is saying something.

Also, Dan has never been a particularly gifted liar.

Once the Yagami boys are in their room, and Seto is studying while Mokuba tries to put together a jigsaw puzzle on the floor, Dan makes a phone call. He's surprised when someone picks up after two rings.

"_Good evening_," comes Pegasus Crawford's crooning voice from the other line.

". . . Good evening, Mister Crawford," Dan says, drawing in a deep breath and trying to hold himself together. "I wanted to talk to you about your, ah . . . stipulation regarding the money you're donating to us."

"_Of course. I understand that it's less than strictly legal, and you technically don't __**have **__to do anything in return for my assistance. But I do hope you would be willing to, shall we say, acquiesce_."

"Well, see, that's the thing. Seto Yagami grew up poor. I mean, not _shirttail _poor, but certainly his parents never made it onto tabloid covers. How, exactly, do you presume us to spend a thousand dollars on his birthday without him being . . . suspicious? Or feeling awkward?"

"_You know, Mister Elliot—may I call you Dan_?"

"Sure."

"_Dan, I've been thinking about that. Tell me, have you read Tolkien_?"

"Uh . . . yeah? In college. Why?"

"_Do you recall . . . there is a tradition among Tolkien's hobbits, to give gifts to __**others **__on one's own birthday. So . . . I've been thinking, what if we . . . work together, you and I, to make sure that __**all **__the children have a gift to open on Master Yagami's birthday this year_?"

Dan blinks. Stops walking.

He says, with a grin rising unconsciously on his face, ". . . I'm listening."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"I can't help but notice that you didn't show your puzzle to Seto" is the first thing Natsumi says in the morning, when Yugi comes stumbling into the kitchen for breakfast. She's been nursing the same mug of coffee for the past half-hour, thinking through innumerable things, and this is apparently the one at the forefront of her mind.

"Yeah, I . . . well . . . I dunno. He might think it's dumb. Everybody else does."

"That's not exactly giving him much of a chance, is it?"

Yugi flinches. "I guess not. But . . . but . . . I wanna _finish _it, y'know? Before I show anybody."

"You were so excited to show him, from what your grandpa tells me." Natsumi sets down her drink and stands up. She lifts the unopened box of cereal that Yugi _tries _to claim as his own from his hand, and replaces it with one that's already open. "You're not going to keep many friends if you don't let them know who you are, Yugi."

"I . . . I know! But . . . but what if . . . ?"

"What if he thinks you're a nerd?" Natsumi smirks at her son's miserable nod. "Yugi, come now. You'll have to come up with something better than that. That boy looks practically two, three years younger than you, and he's in your class. I'd bet _he's _been called a nerd _far _more often than you have."

"But . . . I mean, he's so _cool_! Like, you saw him playing kickball with Téa! And then one time at school he . . . !" Yugi stops suddenly. For a moment he looks ready to panic, then he rallies back around and says: "Well . . . I mean, I don't know this for _sure_, but that thing with show-and-tell? Where he just walked out of class? Téa says he did that to stick up for me. How awesome is _that_? I mean, what's a guy like _that_ gonna think about some dinky old puzzle that isn't even put together?"

"I don't know, Yugi," Natsumi says, more gently. "And neither will you unless you _show him_."

". . . Yeah. I _guess_."

Natsumi ruffles her son's wild hair, and sits back down to reunite with her coffee. "If Seto is risking trips to the principal's office to help you out, don't you think you owe it to him to treat him a bit better than all those strangers you don't know? The ones who _actually _make fun of you? As opposed to Seto, who apparently hasn't said a single mean thing to you?" Something flinty hits her eyes. "We've taught you better than to treat your friends like strangers. Haven't we?"

Yugi kicks at the floor. "_Yeah_."

"Are you going to treat Seto like a stranger anymore?"

"_No_."

Natsumi chuckles. "Good."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto doesn't think about his birthday anymore. He hasn't thought about his birthday in three years. Not that it's his brother's fault, because it isn't. Seto _always _remembers Mokuba's birthday, and makes sure to have some sort of gift ready in July. It isn't exactly hard to come up with gift ideas for a baby, after all. It's only slightly harder to pick them out for a toddler.

His father always had more than enough money in the bank to make sure that Seto had gifts—he worked three jobs—but the actual _celebration _part had never really happened, in those final years before Seto and Mokuba had become wards of the state, because his father never had any free time—he worked three jobs.

As to Seto's _godparents_ . . . he didn't like to think about them.

The anger that they summon in him is dangerous; it burns entirely too hot.

So, as Dan predicted, Seto hasn't thought about the fact that it's October. Not really. He hasn't considered telling Yugi, or Téa, or God forbid Mister Crawford, that he's turning eleven in a few weeks. The only thing he's thinking about is whether or not he'll be able to find a costume for Mokuba to wear on Halloween. The younger Yagami doesn't understand what Halloween _means_, but he likes the brightly-colored capes and masks that everyone wears, and Seto is sure that he'll want to join in this year, since he's "growned up" enough.

Maybe he'll ask Dan. Or Kristine.

He returns to his bedroom after a shower to find his brother kneeling on the floor, trying his best to shuffle a stack of _Magic &amp; Wizards _cards. This amounts to fumbling with them for a while, dropping them, and gathering them back up into a pile; then he does it again. And again.

When Seto steps into the room, Mokuba says: "Play!"

Seto blinks. "You want to duel me, Mokie?"

Mokuba's grin reaches his ears. "Play! Nii'tama! Play!"

Seto smiles as he pulls his dueling deck out of a pocket. ". . . Okay, Mokie. Okay. We'll play."


	12. You in the Dark

_**I'm not entirely sure when it became the golden rule of this story that each chapter should have 3 scenes, but who am I to question providence?**_

_**I think it's generally an accepted rule that Seto hated his time at the orphanage. It's easy, for me more than most I would think, to get the idea that every day there was a living hell for him. But as I get older, I start wondering.**_

_**It's gotten to the point where I'm half-convinced that things weren't half-bad there. After all, Mokuba seemed to have had a great time. I think Seto looks back on his time at the orphanage with disdain because . . . well, because he's a freaking misanthrope.**_

_**But, considering where he ended up, I suppose that worked out well for him.**_

_**Anyway.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Seto Yagami never wakes faster than when he hears his brother crying. This isn't out of some ingrained sense of devotion—though he certainly would like to think it is—so much as a stark, biblical hatred of hearing _other _people bitch about it.

The other boys with whom the Yagami siblings share a room have no sympathy for the fact that a child Mokuba's age doesn't _need _a reason to start bawling, and Seto has long since grown tired of listening to their incessant whining.

This night, Seto doesn't even try to soothe Mokuba back to sleep while still in bed; he gathers the smaller boy in his arms and leaves the room immediately. He spies David Whittaker stirring in the dark, and whispers: "One . . . word . . . and I'll _put _you back to sleep."

He can _feel _David's glare on his back as he turns toward the door, but feels a sense of smug superiority when there isn't any sort of verbal reply.

Seto kicks the door shut behind him, and sits in the hallway. "Shhh-sh-sh . . . it's okay, Mokie . . ." he whispers slowly, rubbing his brother's back. Mokuba is huddled against him, like he thinks he might float away and drown if he lets go. His entire body is shaking with uncontrolled sobs.

Seto grits his teeth, and curses anyone who thinks a three-year-old is too young to feel grief.

"It's okay, baby. Shhh . . . come on, now. Brother's here. Niisama's here. You're safe."

It's like a chant, a tuneless lullaby, endlessly repeating itself while he struggles to rock his little brother back to sleep. Seto is tired—he's felt tired for a long time now—but he dares not shut his eyes.

Seto still remembers a talk his mother had once with a friend, back when he was only a little older than Mokuba is now. The friend was talking about what a shame it was that Mother had quit her job. "You were on the fast-track to _own _that shop, Yu!" the friend had said. "You should go back. Seriously. I'll watch little Seto if you need me to."

"Thank you," Mother had said, "but no. Ko and I decided, as soon as we found out we were pregnant. One of us _has _to be here with him at all times. No exceptions."

Seto doesn't remember the rest of the conversation, because the rest of the conversation doesn't matter; it's never mattered. What matters is Mother's word: all times. _No _exceptions.

Guilt settles over him like an old blanket. What right does he have, going off to play with other kids, learning how to play cards and drinking tea, when he has a job to do? "I have to be here," he whispers to himself, remembering his mother's words. "I have to be here with him. No exceptions." He listens with one ear, as his brother's wracking sobs quiet down to sniffles, and he feels Mokuba's little fingers curl around his shirt. "I've got you, little one," Seto whispers, and kisses the top of his brother's head. "I'm here. I'm right here. Go back to sleep. No more nightmares."

Silence, save a toddler's quiet crying, settles in.

Then:

". . . You try so hard to be a hard-ass . . . but you're just a little sweetheart, aren't you, Yagami?"

* * *

**2.**

* * *

The voice belongs to Ellie, one of the older girls.

She's still dressed, even though it's the middle of the night. She's in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. She tosses herself down next to the Yagami brothers and stares off into the distance with that sort of detached, apathetic angst of which only teenagers are capable; she's about fourteen or fifteen years old, and she's been living at the orphanage for six years.

"You were off seeing your boyfriend again, weren't you?" Seto guesses.

Everyone knows that Ellie breaks the rules every chance she gets; curfew is her favorite. She's probably only been back in bed _before_ lights out a handful of times in all the years she's been here.

Ellie smirks. "Maybe." She quirks an eyebrow. "Gonna rat me out, Yagami?"

Seto stares at her. "Why?"

This elicits a grin. "'Atta boy. Knew I liked you for a reason." Ellie spies Mokuba, still shaking, and the grin fades a bit. "What'sa matter with the pipsqueak? Nightmare?"

"Probably."

Ellie pulls out a cigarette, stares at it, toys with it in her fingers for a while, then grimaces. "Gotta set the right example, right?" She points at Seto with the cigarette. "Don't do drugs, kids." She stuffs the offending article back into her shirt pocket.

"I'm pretty sure the law still says you have to be an adult to smoke," Seto says.

"Law says a lot, Yagami. Law says so much I stopped listening." She sighs, then settles into a more comfortable position. "Never would've pegged you as a Mama Bear type. First showed up, I figured you'd be one of those kids'd get snatched up real quick. Folks love the cute, smart ones. The ones that look like they won't be much trouble."

Seto blinks. "Cute?"

"But you," Ellie goes on, ignoring the look on Seto's face, "don't believe in clichés, do you, Yagami? You don't _look _like trouble, but damned if you ain't. You'll fuck a body up if they mess with your baby, won'tcha?"

Seto feels a sudden swell of pride. ". . . Yes." He waits. Then he says, "People _did _want to adopt me. But they never wanted Mokie."

"Stayed here for the little guy." Seto nods, and Ellie waits a moment before she reaches over and ruffles Seto's hair. "You're all right, Yagami."

Blushing furiously, Seto actually smiles.

". . . Thank you."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Before long, Ellie starts to sing.

Seto stares at her for a moment; she looks back at him and raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. I . . . I'm just . . . I didn't think you liked to sing."

Ellie shrugs. "Best way to get a pipsqueak to sleep is to sing 'em a lullaby, right?"

Seto blinks. "I . . . suppose." He waits a beat. "That didn't sound like a lullaby."

"Sue me," Ellie says, smirking. "Ain't caught up on my rock-a-byes, all right? Gotta make do with whatcha got."

Mokuba isn't crying anymore, but he hasn't moved from his place nestled against his brother. His eyes, wide and wet, are watching Ellie. She makes eye contact with the younger Yagami for a flash of a moment, before she turns away and starts to sing again.

Ellie's voice is already getting scratchy, maybe because of her smoking habit, but it isn't specifically unpleasant. Seto rocks Mokuba in time with the song, which she probably picked up from a rock radio station; it certainly doesn't sound like any lullaby Seto has ever heard. Then again, Seto doesn't often listen to music with lyrics.

Something else he picked up from his mother.

It's long after midnight. Seto is sitting outside his bedroom, in his pajamas, trying to coax his squalling brother back to dreamland, and he's being helped along by a juvenile delinquent who probably won't make it another two years before she's in jail for armed robbery or some other felony.

Somehow, none of this registers in Seto Yagami's mind as strange.

He can feel his brother's breathing change. Mokuba's body relaxes, though his little fists are still wrapped around Seto's shirt.

Ellie is waggling her foot in time with her music, and as Seto watches her, he starts to realize that they're not here for her right now. She's lost in whatever thoughts are swelling around in her head as she almost whispers the lyrics to her impromptu lullaby. Seto doesn't bother to tell her that Mokuba's asleep. He doesn't want to interrupt her, for some reason.

Before long, Seto drifts off to sleep himself. It's a good thing that he's unconscious, because he would have been mortified to know that he's leaning against Ellie's shoulder.

She finishes the song anyway.

Ellie McAllister isn't the sort of girl that would win awards for good behavior. In fact, if she knew Seto's theory on where she'll end up before long, she would probably agree with him. But when she finally decides to leave and head off to fetch a couple of hours so that maybe she'll stay conscious in History class this time, Ellie takes particular care to _not _wake either of her two tiny companions.

After watching the Yagami brothers for a moment, she notices that Mokuba is shivering.

Ellie shakes her head. "How irresponsible of you, Yagami. Should've brought a blanket."

She shrugs out of her jacket, lays it over the two of them, and walks away.

The fact that she pops a cigarette between her teeth, then realizes that her lighter is in her _jacket_ pocket, seems poetic somehow.

* * *

_**.**_

* * *

_**When I was drafting this, I wanted to make sure that I knew which song Ellie was singing, but then I remembered that FF-Net doesn't permit song lyrics that aren't in the public domain. So technically, it doesn't matter, and you can pretty much inject whatever you like into this section.**_

_**If anyone's curious, though, I have two songs in mind that Ellie probably sang to the Yagamis in this chapter.**_

"_**Creep" by Radiohead, or "Letting the Cables Sleep" by Bush.**_

_**I'm partial to the latter, but I'm pretty sure the timeline doesn't add up. It's possible that I'm a bit too hung up on that, but I like my stories to be realistic.**_

_**So, Ellie's probably a Radiohead fan.**_


	13. Pieces of Questions

_**Slight delay in getting this out. A few things have demanded my attention (or else stolen it) this month, and sometimes inspiration just takes a while to work itself out. I'm not the type to wait for inspiration to strike, but I'm also not the type to force things.**_

_**Trying to force a story forward when it isn't ready to advance just doesn't seem like a good idea to me. There's a happy medium. I've spent the past 15 years or so trying to figure out where, exactly, it is.**_

_**This all aside, however, we have some things to discuss. So shall we begin?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"Not really."

Yugi Mutou wears his emotions where everyone can read them, which makes Seto immediately aware that this answer is the last one Yugi wanted to hear; Seto feels suddenly guilty, but he can't help it. History, ancient or otherwise, has never interested him.

"Oh." Yugi bounces back quickly—something that Seto is already starting to notice—but this is apparently a serious blow. "Well, that's okay. I get it. I guess there aren't many kids that _like _history. Not really."

"I don't think about the past," Seto says, abruptly, before his better judgment could stop him. "Not mine, and . . . not the world's." He wonders, probably because Yugi is apparently passionate about this, if his view on the subject would have been different if—if not for—

Yugi's expression changes. ". . . Right. Of course. I'm sorry."

This isn't the response that Seto would have expected, but he's slowly gotten used to being surprised by people. Ever since that first visit from Mister Crawford, very rarely have things gone the way Seto predicts. So, he has resolved to simply absorb, observe, and evaluate. Predictions, Seto has realized on some level, do him no good.

Not until he has more information.

"You wanted to show me something," Seto says, after a few more seconds of silence.

"Well . . . I mean . . . I don't think you'd be really interested, if you're not—it's . . ."

Seto realizes something; something Téa has probably known for a long time: Yugi Mutou is just as socially awkward and shy as Seto himself. He simply uses a different method to hide it. Seto relies on intimidation; Yugi, on effervescence.

If Seto were a more romantic type, he might have said that he and Yugi are two sides of the same coin. Since he is not, he simply files this information away without any labels or metaphors. Metaphors, like history, don't interest Seto Yagami.

"Maybe you'll change my mind," Seto says, gently, even though he doubts this very much. Somehow, even though Seto can't figure it out, he and Yugi Mutou have become friends. This means that compromises must be made. He has limited experience with this, but Mokuba has provided Seto with _enough _experience to get by.

Yugi's face brightens.

"Really? Do you think?"

He starts to dig into his book bag, and Seto waits to see what it is that his friend is so frantic to show him. Something historical. Something special. He remembers talk of a puzzle.

When Seto spies the golden box, and its exquisite workmanship, his interest is piqued.

He leans forward, eyes sparkling, in spite of himself.

What's _in _the box?

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"This is . . . surprising."

Natsumi Mutou is no stranger to guests in her home, nor strangers. Sugoroku has been running the Turtle for a long time now. However, she never would have thought that a man from such social circles as Pegasus Crawford would have had cause to meet with her _twice_.

The first meeting was a fluke. _This _meeting seems to be more than that.

Pegasus bows his head as he steps inside the shop. "Good afternoon, Missus Mutou. My apologies for dropping in unannounced."

"This is a place of business," Natsumi says with a smile, from her place behind the counter; Sugoroku is out on an errand, and has yet to hire a clerk full-time, leaving Natsumi here despite her total lack of knowledge concerning _anything _the Turtle sells. "It's hardly necessary to announce yourself. Please. What can I do for you?"

Pegasus bows again, with a grin splitting his face, and says, "It has little to do with what you might do for _me_, Missus Mutou. I simply wished to talk to you about something concerning Seto Yagami."

Natsumi blinks in surprise. "Seto? What about him?"

"I am presuming that he _hasn't _informed that his birthday is this month?"

Another blink. Another surprise. ". . . No, actually. He hasn't."

"It's the twenty-fifth." Pegasus begins to pace across the shop's floor, looking pensive. "He will no doubt be displeased by this. I am overstepping my boundaries, invading his privacy. However, as I understand it, this poor boy has never _had _a proper birthday party. He's received gifts, to be sure, but a party? Surely any young boy deserves such a thing. Mister Daniel Elliot and myself are planning just such a celebration, and I wished to personally extend an invitation to you and yours."

"He'll be embarrassed if he gets too much attention, won't he?" Natsumi asks, understanding quite well why Pegasus looks so apprehensive about his business here today. "And what about the other children? I doubt they wil appreciate it, either."

Pegasus grins. "I have a plan to offset that. Will you come? Or, at least, will you permit your son? I think it would be fair to say that young Yugi is his only friend."

Natsumi can't help but smile. ". . . Of course." She raises an eyebrow. "May I ask, though—what is your intention with this boy? You seem rather unusually interested in his welfare."

"I'm being presumptuous, of course, but it is my intention to adopt him. And even if the gods see fit to deprive me of that, I surely intend to make his life a little better. The orphans of my city are a largely forgotten lot. I intend to see that corrected, one child at a time. I suppose Seto Yagami is simply . . . first."

There are several things that strike Natsumi as odd about that statement.

But only one haunts her, because there is no way for her to figure out what it could possibly mean.

_The gods_?

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"So _this_ is your puzzle."

Seto picks up a single golden piece from inside the box, and stares at it. Yugi, bursting with energy, nods until it looks like his teeth might rattle straight out of his head. "Grandpa found it! He was an archaeologist, see, before he retired and opened up the shop, and he got this on a dig!"

Seto picks up another piece, then sets both back in the box and plucks out two more. He isn't sure how it's supposed to go together yet, but he already feels a certain thrum of excitement. He's never seen a three-dimensional puzzle before, but the idea fascinates him. He wonders if he'll be allowed to help Yugi put it together.

He realizes with a jolt that Yugi is still talking.

". . . So he was visiting Egypt with a friend that year, and—"

"_Egypt_?"

The word, just two simple syllables, escapes Seto's mouth before he realizes he's even spoken. Something twitches in his mind, something that's always been there. Something that doesn't have a name. Some shard of memory, some impossible little sliver of intuition, wakes up when he hears that word.

Egypt.

Kemet.

The Black Land.

He didn't lie to Yugi about his disinterest in history. His schooling has barely covered the subject. Sure, there was that project in second grade where he was required to pick an animal and invent an Ancient Egyptian god out of it, but other than that . . . he knows next to nothing.

So why does this puzzle look familiar?

And why does it make him feel so . . . sad?


	14. The Art of Social Conduct

_**It's been longer than I would like to admit since I've touched this story. I've been working my way through a major arc in the main "Paved with Good Intentions" story, an arc that's been begging for conclusion for many, many months.**_

_**But 2015 is the Year of the AU. This story is the first in a sequence of three stories I have planned for the year. The second, in case you're curious, is a full series based on the "I Was Born This Way" chapters from "Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes," wherein the Kaibas' ages are switched; that is, Mokuba is the elder brother, and Seto is the younger.**_

_**The third is a secret.**_

_**But all in all, I suppose that's neither here nor there. Just thought I'd mention it here, since . . . well, since I'm excited about these stories, more excited than I ever thought I'd be.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"_Stop_."

It's like someone took a bolt of lightning and cracked it like a whip. Téa looks so thoroughly flabbergasted that she can't remember what language even is anymore, but she certainly knows what _that _word means.

Seto looks murderous.

Téa leans back, sits on her heels. Mokuba—who _had_ been giggling fit to wet himself—stops immediately, confused. He rolls around and looks quizzically at his brother. Seto, for his part, closes his eyes. Part of him wonders if he's spent too much time around predators, whether he's forgotten what it's like to be around friends.

But . . . no. No, he remembers what Mother said. He remembers every word his mother _ever _said.

"He was having fun," Téa says softly. "I wasn't _hurting _him."

No. No, she wasn't hurting him. She was just tickling him. Mokuba is ridiculously ticklish, and there are so few people who _care _about that . . . Seto tells himself that he should be lenient. But then something rears up in his mind—something fierce, with long fangs and gleaming eyes and lightning in its jaws—and reminds him.

"He said _no_," Seto says. "He said _stop_. You stop."

"He was just _kidding_," Téa protests, but weakly.

"I don't care," Seto snaps, and Téa flinches. Seto _remembers_ what Mother said. He says it now: "He has to know that what he says _matters_. He has to know that he's in charge of his own body. So when he says _stop_, you _stop_. If he's kidding, he'll let you know. But you _wait_ until he does."

Missus Mutou, who's sitting on the couch reading a newspaper, looks up and stares at the three of them. She has a sharp, searching look on her face. She leans back and raises an eyebrow. Then she smiles. When Téa glances over at her, Missus Mutou puts up a hand and says, "Don't look at me. You heard him."

Téa sits back, rests her hands on her knees, and looks at Mokuba. Mokuba, for his part, promptly clambers into her lap and settles there. He likes Téa, and he clearly doesn't understand why Nii'tama put on his angry face. He makes it quite clear—through incomprehensible gestures and incoherent babbling—that the tickle game should continue. Téa eyes Seto to see if he's going to get serious again, but Seto simply shrugs.

_If he's kidding_, _he'll let you know_.

Missus Mutou waits a while longer, watching Seto watch Téa play with Mokuba, then she gets up. "How would you kids like to help me make dinner?" she asks. Then she blinks. "Which is code language for, 'You're _going_ to help me make dinner, but I want to be polite.'"

"When is Yugi getting back?" Téa asks, as she sets Mokuba down and stands up.

"At this rate, just in time to do the dishes," Missus Mutou says, then winks. "The golden rule with my father is, whatever time he tells you he'll be home . . . add forty-five minutes."

Seto stands up as well, realizing with a sudden jolt that he's spent the entire afternoon at someone else's home, even though that someone isn't here. Clearly this doesn't bother Téa, so apparently it isn't _uncommon _for Yugi to join his grandfather on random adventures, but the idea is thoroughly foreign to Seto.

Then again, it's not like Seto ever had friends to invite to _his _house.

_Mom would have liked Yugi_, Seto thinks suddenly, and his eyes start burning.

Mokuba grabs his brother's hand, and says "Nii'tama _good cook_." He says it like he's informing the plebeian masses that the emperor is a gifted sportsman. He swings Seto's hand around as he follows the others into the kitchen, and Seto notices with some amount of shock that Missus Mutou doesn't order the excitable toddler back into the living room.

"I'm sure Niisama knows his way around a kitchen," Missus Mutou says, "but so do I. And in _this_ kitchen, everyone pitches in at mealtime. So!" She grabs a stool and pulls it over to the sink. Then she grabs a colander from a cupboard, and heads over to the refrigerator. "Mokuba? Your job is to wash the vegetables. Seto, you'll be peeling potatoes right over here," she gestures, "so you can be right next to him in case he needs help." She looks sharply at Téa. "_You_ know the drill, young lady."

Téa doesn't even bother to ask what dish they're making. She snaps to attention and heads right over to the spice cabinet, where she starts gathering a bunch of tiny canisters and bottles.

Seto helps his brother get situated, and doesn't realize that he's smiling.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"I'm . . . not even going to guess how you figured this out" is the only thing Dan finds himself able to say, as he stares at the spread of gifts Pegasus Crawford has gathered for the sake of Seto Yagami's "Hobbit-Style" tenth birthday. He ticks off each offering as he walks along the table. "Glen will _love _this exercise ball for his mouse. David's always had a thing for basketball. Ellie _adores _classic rock. How . . . how did you _do _this?"

Pegasus winks. "I'm a quick study. Finding out what people like without letting them realize what I'm doing is . . . well, let's just say that it's the crux of my job. I've always found it _particularly _important to know what children like."

"Well, yeah," Dan says, "you run a toy company. That stands to reason. Okay, so this pretty much covers the others. What about Seto himself?"

Pegasus winks a second time. "I'll go ahead and keep that one a surprise, if you don't mind."

". . . Did you interview _all _of the kids?" Dan asks.

Not nearly as thoroughly as his knowledge would indicate, but . . .

"I did."

"Well," Dan says, laughing, "I guess you _are _taking this whole thing seriously. I have to admit, I was concerned at first. I mean, we're kind of an archaic institution here. Orphanages aren't exactly _in vogue_, you know? And we don't exactly operate the same way that your more _modern _foster homes—well. Anyway. Thank you for accommodating us." Dan smirks. "Though I suppose there's no questioning _who_ it is you're after."

Pegasus shrugs. "I hate to play favorites, but . . . I'd like to think that we've hit it off, so to speak."

Dan shrugs in turn. "It's not like it's a bad thing, really. If we didn't take personal choice into the equation, well . . . I'm pretty sure _nobody_ around here would get adopted." He waits a moment, then sighs. "I'll be honest with you, sir. We don't get all that many adoptions that go all the way to the end. A lot of them back out, once they realize how involved the process really is. A lot of folks who come here, they think it's as simple as picking up the cutest one, changing their name, and driving away with them."

Pegasus chuckles. "Mm. True enough. Well, hopefully this is the beginning of a fruitful partnership between you and me."

"I'm only _acting _director," Dan reminds him. "I don't want this job, to be honest. I'd much rather get my hands dirty, as the proverb has it. I'm no bureaucrat. But, for now . . . yes."

He holds out a hand, which Pegasus shakes.

"A partnership."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"How come you didn't tell us your birthday was coming up?"

Seto freezes, his eyes go wider than the plate in front of him, and his fork clatters to the table. He looks at Yugi like the older boy has just said something supremely offensive, and he might just fling himself away from the table to find a weapon.

"I . . . w-what?"

"Your birthday!" Yugi repeats obliviously. "It's next week, isn't it? How come you didn't say anything? I can come to your party, right? _Right_?"

Mokuba knows what the word _party _means, and gets excited. "Party?" he asks, eyes sparkling. "Nii'tama! Party?!"

". . . I . . . m-maybe . . . Mokie, I don't . . ."

Missus Mutou sets her own utensils down and draws in a breath. "Seto," she says, quietly but no less firmly than how she says anything. Even Sugoroku, who pretty much seems just as excitable and . . . frivolous as his grandson, straightens up.

Seto looks at her. "Y-Yes . . . ?"

"If you're uncomfortable about the idea, then you should definitely say something to your social workers." He notes the way she calls them _his_, and wonders what she's talking about; nobody working at the Children's Home is _his_. "They're apparently . . . worried about you. I have to guess that Mister Elliot or Miss Hathaway had to do with this. They must have mentioned to Mister Crawford that your birthday was coming up. He was the one who told us."

A jolt of something indescribable shoots through Seto's brain and nestles deep in his spine. "He . . . _what_?!"

"He wants to make sure you have a proper birthday party," Missus Mutou says. "He says you've never had one. At least, not to _his _standards. But it's _your _decision, and don't ever let anyone else try to tell you otherwise."

"Ah—but . . . why would he _do _that . . . ?"

"If I had to guess . . . he wants to take care of you." Missus Mutou's face is suddenly gentle. "That is, after all, why he's going through the adoption process in the first place. He hasn't taken _nearly _as much interest in any of the other children as he has you and your brother. I don't think there's any reason to deny it anymore."

Sugoroku, still silent, continues eating. He watches Seto, then Yugi, then Téa, then Mokuba, then back to Seto. That man's eyes are always moving. The Mutou patriarch looks jovial and jolly, like a blue-collar Santa Claus, but he's sharper than anyone Seto has ever met.

Except, perhaps, Pegasus Crawford.

"Awww . . . are you _not _having a party?" Yugi asks. "I already picked out your present!"

Seto blinks again. Stares. "You . . . you got me . . . ?"

"Sure!" Yugi looks suddenly confused. "That's what friends _do_!" He looks at Téa for confirmation.

Téa, who is sitting on Seto's side of the table, elbows him playfully. "Have the party, Seto. I don't think Yugi could handle it being canceled. Neither could Mister Crawford, prob'ly."

"Party!" Mokuba trumpets.

Seto knows when he's been defeated. He looks around at the people sitting with him, all looking at him with varying degrees of hopefulness on their faces, and heaves a sigh. He thinks he could handle Yugi's dismay, maybe even Mister Crawford's.

But Seto Yagami has never been able to handle disappointing his baby brother.

". . . I-I guess I should thank Mister Crawford," Seto mumbles quietly. "That was very thoughtful of him." Yet again, he's parroting his mother. They aren't his words. But the looks on Yugi's, Téa's, and Missus Mutou's faces . . . they send a bloom of warmth through him, and Seto realizes something he should have known a long time ago.

There's a _reason _his mother told him all those things.

He's been ignoring everything his parents taught him . . . for _years_.

Sugoroku breaks through Seto's melancholy by calling out: "All right, then! That's settled!" He reaches down to his plate, scarfs down a dinner roll, then points at Mokuba. "You!" Mokuba _squeaks_. "Time for _you_ to pick out a present for your brother. Come along, young one. We're going to the main floor!"

Missus Mutou rolls her eyes. "Of course. _Everything _is an opportunity for business, right, Dad?"

"Exactly!"

"Present?" Mokuba blinks. "For Nii'tama?"

"Exactly!" Sugoroku crows again. He leans toward the boy with a conspiratorial look in his eye. "For the party."

This catches Mokuba's attention, reignites his excitement, and he starts fumbling his way out of his booster seat to follow Sugoroku down the stairs.

"Mokuba," Seto calls out, and Mokuba freezes. "Be careful. Don't break anything."

"'Kay!"

Seto starts to eat again, wondering what he's supposed to feel right now.

Téa leans close to him and whispers: "It's okay. You're allowed to be happy."

For some reason, Seto's eyes start burning again. When he excuses himself and heads down the hall into the restroom, he's only a little surprised to see streaks of wetness running down his face, when he looks at himself in the mirror.


	15. For Saturday's Child

_**I had, initially, intended for the Seto's Birthday Chapter™ to take only one installment to complete. Shows what I know. There's a lot to cover here, and it's going to take at least two chapters to fully encompass it.**_

_**I don't remember when I decided that this story was going to be written entirely in present tense, as opposed to the much more traditional past, but maybe that's because so much of this story flies in the face of tradition.**_

_**Or maybe I'm just looking too deeply into an ultimately arbitrary style choice.**_

_**Although, I'm not sure it's arbitrary at all.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Ellie McAllister sits outside at various, seemingly random spots at night, waiting to get tired. It's a habit she picked up long before she met with the Yagami siblings and sang them to sleep with an old ballad she'd picked up on KXAB 106.7: _Today's Hits, Without the Crying_. She isn't sure why she does it, but perhaps there's just something romantic about sitting on surfaces you're not supposed to sit on, in places you're not supposed to be. The floor, curbs, dumpsters. Fire escapes.

Hallways outside the interim director's office.

". . . _Yes_. _No, of course, I understand_," Director Dan is saying._ "But see, here's the thing. Look—trust me on this. It's a bad idea. These are kids. They aren't going to have the resources to get him anything. Most of them, anyway. There might be a couple of—just, it'd be better for them if we just set up the party as a surprise to everyone. Well, except Seto, probably. I'm sure __**he's **__figured out by now_."

Ellie leans back and stares at the overhang above her head.

What's _this_, now?

"_Because he's smarter than most of the people that __**work **__here. You can't keep a secret from him, not for long. Anyway, that's not the point. Do you understand? We can't tell the other kids—well, okay, __**can't **__is the wrong word, but we shouldn't. Some, at least, will feel bad that they don't have any way of buying him a gift. Just let them have the day. Same as him. Let's not have any more awkwardness than we're bound to have already. O-Okay. Okay, yes. Thank you. Fine. I suppose that means I'll see you in a few days. All right. Good night, Mister Crawford_."

Ellie hears shuffling, clicking, a _bang_. Dan is still cursing under his breath as he comes out of his office, looking tired and about ten-thousand percent done with life in general. When he spies one of his problem children sitting outside, eavesdropping, he does a remarkable job of hiding his displeasure.

"And what are _you _doing up?" he asks idly. Entirely exasperated, probably doesn't care, but has to ask because it's his job.

Ellie respects this a lot more than anyone might expect. She really does.

She offers an exaggerated shrug with a twinkle in her eye. "_Nuttin_'. What about _you_, Mister Director, sir? A private tryst? You never struck me as the type to be mooning after the _nouveau riche_, but I guess he _does _look rather dashing. That _hair_."

Dan sighs, rolls his eyes, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Mm-hm. Right." He waits a beat. "He's dreamy, all right. Real snappy dresser, too. But I doubt he'd go for a valley girl like me."

Ellie snickers. _Definitely _an upgrade over the last owner of this office.

"What's this about Yagami?" she asks suddenly.

"So you _were _listening in. Scandalous."

"Yeah, yeah, I've already got detention tomorrow. What's going on? Is Yagami's birthday soon?"

"Saturday."

Ellie blinks, stares, and quickly reflects on how little she usually cares about birthdays. But this one . . . for some reason it's different, and a soft kind of anger rises up in her. Why'd the little snot never say anything? Why'd the _bigger _snots in suits and fake leather shoes never say anything?

"Daddy and his new boyfriend are keeping secrets from us," Ellie says, more sharply than before. "You're telling me I've got three days to find a gift for that snarky little _wunderkind_?"

"Listen to you. Practically multilingual. You _have _been paying attention in class lately."

"Got a friend, keeps telling me to expand my vocabulary. Won't shut up about it." Ellie heaves a sigh of her own and stands up. She digs into her jacket pockets, pulls out six dollars and seventy-three cents.

Dan watches her silently.

She glares at her meager fortune. ". . . Fuck."

"I've been needing someone to help me sift through Kelvin's old records," Dan says slowly. "Clearing out boxes, helping me clean out my new office, mostly. Looks like I'll be in this chair longer than I thought. May's well make the space my own." Ellie stares at him. "I mean, if you really want to get him something . . ."

Ellie crosses her arms and twists her face up into something resembling interest.

". . . All right. I'll take your blood money."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"I'm _busy_, Croquet."

The one thing Croquet can't fault with the master's decision to make his time at the old orphanage into one of his chief pastimes is, quite simply, that it puts him in a good mood. Pegasus Crawford is never more engaged, never more _alive_, than when he's playing a game. And to Pegasus Crawford, there is no greater game than social discourse.

It's been a lot longer than Croquet would want to admit—given his general stance on The Adoption Project™—since the last time he's heard the master's voice take on so much venom.

"Of course, sir," Croquet says, bowing his head. "I would not disturb you if it weren't necessary. Mister Gabrielli is here. He's . . . not happy."

Pegasus draws in a steadying breath, stands from behind his desk, and gestures sharply with one hand. "I will see him." He hands a sheet of paper to Croquet as he leaves the room. "Take this to Patrick. I need the items on this list before sunset tonight."

Croquet bows again. "Of course, sir."

Pegasus stalks through his central second-floor hallway toward the stairs. Where other, more traditional estates would display framed pieces of Renaissance-era artwork—classic pieces of _taste _and _refinement_—Pegasus has opted to frame animation cels and autographed sketches from any number of artists, from the highest-profile professionals to the most obscure enthusiasts.

"Art's highest potential can never come from some high-handed, upfront desire to live forever, nor to change society," Pegasus murmurs low under his breath, as he passes below a watercolor portrait of his own Thousand Dragon, facing off against Dirk the Daring from _Dragon's Lair_.

Seto Yagami isn't the only boy who remembers the lessons taught to him at his mother's pretty knee.

"The truest height of art comes from whatever it can summon from anyone who looks at it. Does it bring joy? Does it stir passion? Do the people who see it come away with different expressions on their faces? If not, then throw it out. Don't give it time, don't give it a pass, and _certainly _don't hang it on your wall. It doesn't matter how good it is, or what it symbolizes. Art that fades into the background is the worst kind of distraction."

Pegasus descends to his ground floor parlor thinking of his mother, and this has done nothing to curb the fire in his right eye, nor the death-like chill in his left. If anything, it's heightened both.

Abele Gabrielli is wearing indignant rage like cheap perfume. He shoots to his feet and puffs out like a schoolboy playing at drill sergeant. "A _phone call_?" he snarls. "A fifteen-second _fucking _phone call?!"

"You should be honored," Pegasus says, without the faintest trace of his usual mirth. "I usually don't make double digits. I much prefer face-to-face correspondence. Is there a problem you would like to voice, Abele?"

"A . . . a problem? A _problem_?!"

Why do angry people take such pleasure in repeating themselves?

Pegasus slips his hands into his pockets and stands easy against his mentor's fury. "I don't intend to engage in conversation with you unless you can put words to the grievance you so clearly have against me right now. So, I will ask again: is there a problem you would like to _voice_, Abele?"

Gabrielli sputters, stammers, deflates. He is closing in on his fiftieth birthday. His hair is falling out, making his slate-colored mustache all the more prominent. His skin is splotchy, like his attitude. He has no patience, nor tolerance, for upstarts. But all the same, he cannot pretend that he is not intimidated by his old protégé. He is painfully aware that he is on foreign turf, within walls that do not belong to him.

He expected the master of this estate to scrape and simper, like he did when he was sixteen. Pegasus's cool detachment has him reeling.

What a difference three years and a lost eye—and a lost bride—can make.

"We've had this meeting on the books for _months_. We _agreed_ on the twenty-fifth. And now? _After_ I've rearranged _every _piece of scheduling I had for the past six weeks to accommodate you, _you _back out? For a _birthday party_?!"

"I intend to make this boy my son," Pegasus says candidly. "Within the year, his name will be Crawford. It would be the height of indecency for me to treat him as any less worthy of my attention now than he will be when he is mine."

Gabrielli stares. ". . . You're seriously telling me that a gutter rat from a backwoods orphanage is more deserving of your attention than I? Have you forgotten all I've done for you?!"

"I will never forget what you've done," Pegasus says, and the tone of his voice—flat, cold, somehow grey—stops Gabrielli short. "I will never forget that you gave me a chance when no one else would. I will never forget that you spent so much of your fortune to turn Industrial Illusions into a pillar of my industry. And I will never forget that the first time we discussed my chosen heir to the legacy you so graciously helped me to build . . . you chose to dismiss him, demean him, and declare _just_ how much more important than him you should be. _Directly_ to my face."

Gabrielli takes an involuntary step back.

Pegasus takes a specifically voluntary step forward. "I invite you to find an act more insulting than that."

"I . . . think you misunderstand something here, boy. I hope you're not going to compare _insults _with me. Or have you forgotten our arrange—"

That telltale flash of gold.

Another stumbling step back.

Another resolute step forward.

Pegasus still isn't grinning. "You seem under the impression that you're the one in power here." He glances at his right hand, picks at something that's managed to get stuck underneath a fingernail. He eyes his adversary with an idle sort of interest; the same he would level on a fascinating insect. He eventually calls out: "_Croquet_!"

The man appears in the room as though summoned directly by the sound of his name. "Sir?"

"There's been some mistake," Pegasus says. "I do not meet privately with the arrogant, nor the insensitive, nor the _stupid_." He turns his back on an old friend. He is not even cutting his losses; the asset known as Abele Gabrielli never existed. "I don't believe this man and I have met. Escort him off the grounds. If he tries anything untoward, do him the courtesy of teaching him the manners his parents so obviously never bothered with."

The master heads back toward the stairs.

"You—do you have _any idea_ what you're doing?! _Crawford_! Don't be an idiot! Don't you _dare _turn your back on me!"

Pegasus stops. Turns his head. "Did you misunderstand something? You can clearly see that I already have." He turns away; he doesn't have to look to know that Croquet has drawn his sidearm. "Get out."

He finally finds a smile, when he hears the declamatory _slam _of his front doors.

On the way back to his private quarters, Pegasus spies a beautiful young woman with jet-black hair in his peripheral vision.

She says, "_Now_ we're getting somewhere."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"Seto . . . wake up, sleepyhead."

For a blinding moment, before his eyes open and the real world crashes in, Seto thinks his mother is here. She's _here_, she's _back_, and he can't wait to tell her _so many things_—but then he _does _open his eyes.

It's Missus Mutou, kneeling by his bed. She's smiling at him. Seto blinks owlishly, and does his best to curb his crushing disappointment. He forces a smile onto his face and says "Good morning" because he's supposed to. He turns to the side, expecting to find his brother curled up next to him, but Mokuba's gone.

Before raw panic can tear its way through Seto like a beast from his nightmares, he feels a strong hand on his shoulder. "He's fine," Missus Mutou says gently. "Mokuba's just fine. He's off with Mister Elliot. I'm sure he'll back in just a minute."

Seto rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, waiting for his heart to slow down. "Why are you here so early?" he asks.

"Early?" Missus Mutou repeats, chuckling. "It's after ten, sweetheart. Yugi and Téa are in the backyard, helping set everything up. It's a big day, Seto. _You've _had eleven of your own birthdays. But they've only had one so far. C'mon, now. Sit up. It sounds like someone's coming."

Seto shuts his eyes hard against the fatigue—and everything else—while he shakes his head and adjusts himself so that his back is leaning against the wall. A long moment later, he watches as Dan guides Mokuba into the room. The younger Yagami sibling is laboriously carrying a tray loaded down with just about every breakfast food known to humankind. Dan is carrying a tea kettle in one hand, a saucer and cup in the other.

"Birf-_daaay_!" Mokuba sings out as he sets the tray over his brother's lap. "_Birf_-day!" Then he giggles, steps back, and sways around with his hands clasped in front of him.

Seto's smile is real now. He can't help it. "Thank you, Mokie."

Mokuba reaches into one of his tiny pockets and pulls out a handful of confetti, which he throws into the air with a wordless exclamation of joy. Seto laughs—again, he can't help it—and picks up his fork.

"Turns out, Mokuba doesn't know what your favorite breakfast is," Dan says. "So, he asked Frank if he could make you everything _he _likes. Thought that counts, right?" He leans down, sets the cup and saucer on one corner of the tray, and pours some tea. "I know you're not into this kind of thing, but . . . happy birthday, Seto."

". . . Thank you, Mister Elliot."

Seto eats the oatmeal, the sliced honeydew, and has a few bites of the French toast. With a glance at Missus Mutou, Dan heads out of the room. She follows him. Seto realizes with some surprise that, with their exit, he's alone in the room with his brother. David and Ollie are nowhere to be found, even though _they _usually sleep 'til noon on weekends.

"Come here," Seto says after a while. "I can't eat all this. You'll have to help me." Mokuba clambers up onto the bed and attacks the tray without any further prompting. After some quiet reflection, Seto ruffles his brother's hair and kisses the top of his head. "Love you, Mokie. I love you."

Mokuba looks up, turns, and offers a lopsided little grin. He leans over and kisses Seto's cheek. Seto laughs again as he wipes crumbs and maple syrup off his face. He hugs the boy close, trying to bury the hard, sharp feelings that are still nestled deep inside his memory. Missus Mutou, and Yugi, and Téa and Mokuba and Dan and Mister Crawford—they all went to a lot of trouble to make the day special. Seto's usual rituals for Saturday, drinking too much caffeine and reading math textbooks until his eyes feel like they're bleeding, aren't going to cut it this time.

Once Seto has extricated himself from his breakfast and has dressed properly, he heads outside to find Dan and Missus Mutou both standing vigil outside the door, like bodyguards. Mokuba throws himself out of the room and pushes against his brother's side, with a death-grip on Seto's hand. He isn't about to let the grown-ups forget his place.

The front yard, where everyone usually congregates, is basically deserted. Seto spies David Whittaker, alone, kicking and tossing a basketball around and looking sulky like always. He's dressed in an outfit that Seto has never seen, but it looks a lot nicer than what he usually wears. His shoes are particularly impressive.

Seto files this information away.

He's led out into the backyard, and it crosses his mind that he's never actually come out here before. Some part of him never bothered to even check to see if the Domino Children's Home _had _a backyard, because there's always been a part of him that was convinced he wouldn't be here long. What's the point of exploring a place that won't even matter in a few weeks?

He's kept on thinking this way for almost seven months now.

Seeing the transformation that's taken place out here—in a yard that no doubt _usually _looks no different from the front one—almost stops Seto Yagami's heart.

Mokuba _squeals_.

There's a bright blue inflatable castle with the word **ASTROJUMP **stamped ostentatiously on the side; there's a huge rounded trampoline with a pentagonal set of safety nets. At least ten picnic tables, all set with brightly-colored cloth and paper plates stamped with the _Magic &amp; Wizards _logo. Streamers are _everywhere_, wound around every possible surface like Christmas lights. Balloons, signs, three piñatas shaped like dragons, four lavishly-decorated cakes, a _vat _of ice cream—and almost every single resident of the Domino Children's Home, milling about, talking, laughing, playing. Seto quickly takes stock of attendance; it has never been his way to ignore small details. Particularly when he has no proper idea what else he's _actually _supposed to be doing.

Only two of his fellow orphans are missing, and have been replaced by Yugi and Téa. David Whittaker, and . . .

"Gonna let flies in there, keep gawpin' like that, Yagami."

Seto flinches so violently that his feet actually leave the ground.

It's Ellie, grinning like she knows a secret, still with her leather jacket. But everything else about her outfit is different. Instead of jeans and a _They Might Be Giants _t-shirt, she's wearing a white dress. Her dirty blonde hair is combed and tied back into a braid, as opposed to its usual messy sprawl.

She's wearing a silver necklace.

". . . Huh?"

Ellie laughs. Is she wearing makeup? "What's with that look?"

"I . . . uh . . . um . . . didn't think you liked dressing up."

"Yeah, well, you'll just have to make it up to me later."

"Who's _this _now?" Missus Mutou asks, with laughter in her voice. "Have you been holding out on us, Seto?"

Ellie's grin reminds Seto of a shark now. "I'm a bad influence on him. Ellie's what they call me." She holds out a hand, and Missus Mutou shakes it. Ellie turns her attention back to the festivities. "Well, now. Look at this. All this business on account o' just _one _of us." She gives Seto a playful push on the shoulder. "You've got some special friends, kiddo."

Seto feels his temperature rise, not just his face but every piece of him, from his toes to his fingers. He lowers his head. Part of him wants to cry. "I—I didn't—I never . . ."

"Oh, _shut up_. Nobody thinks you _asked _for this." Ellie winks at him. "Sometimes, other people just like to be nice." She leans down and gives Seto a peck on the cheek. "Especially if the recipient gets all embarrassed about it."

The sound that escapes Seto's throat is in no way human.

Mokuba is laughing, hopping up and down and apparently trying to dislocate Seto's shoulder, the way he's tossing his brother's arm around.

Ellie's grin widens again, making her look like the Cheshire Cat. She's enjoying this. "Look at _you_, pipsqueak. Obviously _you're _feeling better. Go on, then. Go show your brother how to have fun on his birthday."

"Birf-day!"

Seto ends up dragged halfway across the yard before he realizes he's even moved, and Mokuba—not really paying attention to _where _he's going; he's too distracted by all the colors—almost barrels right into Pegasus Crawford.

The president of Industrial Illusions has traded in his usual blood-red suit for a blue one that looks suspiciously like a French military officer's uniform from the nineteenth century. There are absolutely no traces of embarrassment on the man's face, despite the fact that he's apparently wearing his Halloween costume a week early.

"Aha. The guest of honor arrives." Pegasus bows with a flourish, then calls out in a loud thunderclap of a voice: "_Everyone_! If I might have your attention, please!" Dead silence reigns over the area. "I trust we all remember how this goes?" General murmurs of assent from children who usually have no reason whatsoever to listen to adults, and more than a handful of reasons _not _to.

Seto blinks several times.

What . . . ?

Pegasus holds up three fingers. "Three!" One goes down. "Two!" A second. "One!" He's holding up a fist.

"_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SETO**_**!**"

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**We've crossed the 30,000 mark. I'm not sure what that means, specifically, but ever since I switched from number of pages to number of words in order to determine the length of a story, I've had a certain fascination with milestones.**_

_**This feels like one.**_

_**Next time, we'll (probably) wrap up Seto's birthday. I'm sure you're all wondering what sorts of presents he got. Or, maybe not. I'm not sure. Either way, though, I hope you found this one enjoyable.**_

_**It was difficult to pin down. I think the struggle was worth it, though.**_


	16. A Soft and Guiding Hand

_**This is the longest chapter so far. Twice as long as the average, at about 4,400 words. Considering the last chapter clocked in at 3,500, I'm rather surprised at how naïve I was, to think that this section could be contained in a single update.**_

_**It's not that Seto's birthday is such a momentous event that it can't be done without vomiting on the page. It's just that I'm so used to writing Seto a certain way, and this is the first time I've ever flipped everything I knew about him on its head.**_

_**And showcasing that on the occasion of his birth seems entirely too appropriate.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"At what point would it be prudent to rescue him?"

Pegasus Crawford has the face of a man who has succeeded where all others have failed. His visible eye is sparkling, his grin is wider than it has any right to be, and whenever he speaks, his voice has more than a twinge of laughter in it.

Ellie, standing next to the other adults because she apparently finds it amusing, says, "You look like you're leading this group of suburban superheroes, and everyone got a memo telling them to wear their civvies . . . except you."

Pegasus turns to look at Ellie, blinks at her, then throws his head back and laughs. "Yes, well, what better way to hide my true identity than by forcing people to stare at my _clothes_? Let us assume I were dressed _normally_. If anyone attempted to find anything about me, they'd have to scrutinize. But, by dressing like _this_, the only thing anyone will notice about me is how ridiculous I look. I'm only slightly disappointed I wasn't able to track down a plumed hat to finish it up. The costume _is _the disguise."

Ellie stares at the man for a moment, then cracks a grin fit to split her face. "I _like _you. So, you're the one set this all up?" She gestures around the yard, and watches Mokuba drag his brother around. Seto is stumbling, trying vainly to stay upright, his face is as red as the strawberries that top his birthday cakes, but he seems to be enjoying himself. In spite of himself.

"I did," Pegasus says, "with the assistance of your gracious director." He pats Dan on the shoulder.

"Where's Mama Hathaway?" Ellie wonders. "Figure she wouldn't miss this one."

"She'll be here," Dan says. "She said she had something come up that she had to get done, before she could show."

"Hmmm . . ."

"Mokie!" Seto is calling out. "You can't just _punch _the piñata! That's not—_no_! Put that _down_!"

Yugi Mutou and Téa Gardner have finally worked their way through the crowd and have caught up to their friend. They're both laughing as they watch Mokuba struggle to understand how the piñata game works. They try to back up Seto as he walks his brother through an explanation. But the more Mokuba hears, the more excited he gets, and it's clear that he wants to start _right now_, and that means he isn't even close to listening. He wants to know if the sparkle-dragon _really _ate that much candy.

Ellie rolls her eyes. "We'd better go _facilitate_ something," she says. "If that kid gets any more flustered, he's gonna convince himself that all these friends are a bad influence on his baby boy."

"Hm?" Pegasus raises an eyebrow at her.

"Back before all this shi—_stuff,_" here Ellie eyes Dan with a glare fit to burn him from the inside out, "started happening, Yagami had the pipsqueak pretty well in line. I'm betting he thought everything made sense, he knew how to handle it all, and the kid was happy. That's all that mattered. Now, everything's breaking down." She jabs a finger at Pegasus, then sweeps it over to Dan and the Mutous. "If y'all wanna make sure that all this nice-nice you're laying at his feet is gonna _stick_, then we'd better convince him that it _isn't _gonna ruin everything he's been trying to build since he got here."

Pegasus looks stunned for a moment.

Then his gaze turns thoughtful.

Then his grin comes back.

". . . You are _absolutely_ right."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Natsumi puts a hand on Pegasus's shoulder as he starts walking toward the two boys that have been the objects of his thoughts for so long. "Mister Crawford."

Pegasus glances back. "Yes?"

"Be careful." The look on the Mutou matriarch's face is one of a field general preparing for a battle she doesn't think she can win. "I'm sure you've seen it, just as much as we have. That little boy is the center of Seto's world. And God only knows how much he's sacrificed for that."

Pegasus stops moving. So does Ellie.

Sugoroku, with his thumbs tucked behind the straps of his overalls, looks like an old-time mayor. "The way he looks after the little one, I think it's clear they haven't relied on adult supervision for a _long_ time. Seto's become a father, and he won't take kindly to anyone _infringing _on his right to raise his son. That's what you're getting at, isn't it?"

Natsumi nods.

"That's actually about the size of it," Dan puts in; he sounds like he doesn't want to admit this. "You've managed to get through to him in ways I don't think I'll ever understand, Mister Crawford, but on this . . . like the lady said. Be careful."

Pegasus offers a nod of his own, watches the Yagamis for a while, then nods again. "Worry not, my lovelies. I think I've figured out how to approach this."

Pegasus marches on, his gait easy. He weaves through the children, almost like he's dancing. By the time he approaches the Yagamis, Seto is kneeling down with both hands on Mokuba's shoulders, speaking softly to him. Yugi and Téa are standing to the side, as silent as they would be at a funeral.

". . . understand?" Seto is saying now. "I know it's a party, but that doesn't mean you get to—" He stops suddenly, looks up at Pegasus, and waits. He looks threatened, like a feral animal approached by hunters. "W-What?"

Pegasus holds up a hand. "Please. I meant not to interrupt you. Merely to let you know, I'd like to have a word with you if I could. When you're finished here." He very pointedly turns his attention away. "Pardon me," he says, "Missus Mutou? Could you do me a favor?" He gestures to the orphanage proper. "My associate is standing watch in the front yard, in case someone comes on business. I believe you met him the first time we were here? His name is Croquet. Tell him that I left a few things in the car." He glances quickly at Ellie, then leans over and whispers in Natsumi's ear. "A gift, for Miss McAllister."

Natsumi smiles. "Of course. I'd be happy to." She glances at the other children and crooks a finger. Yugi and Téa share a look, then follow Natsumi across the yard. Yugi waves awkwardly at Seto; Téa gives him a nod.

Seto doesn't react; he probably doesn't realize they're leaving.

Pegasus grins after them like a boy of twelve. "Thank you."

Once he is satisfied that no one is going to step on his business, Seto starts again: "Mokie. Look at me." Mokuba is watching his brother's friends. "Do you understand—_Mokuba_." At the sound of his full name, Mokuba snaps back to attention. Seto's face is carved from granite. "Just because we're at a party doesn't mean you don't have to behave. Do you understand? _Mind your manners_."

". . . Yes, Nii'tama." Mokuba hangs his head miserably. "Sorry."

Seto's smile comes back, and his entire being softens. "It's okay." He hugs the boy close. "It's okay, baby. You're just excited, aren't you?" A slow nod. "Just behave yourself, okay? Be a good boy."

"Good boy," Mokuba mumbles quietly.

Seto kisses his brother's forehead. "Good boy," he says again.

Pegasus grins at Sugoroku. "It seems Master Yagami has everything under control." Seto stands up, pulls his brother next to him—instinctively—and watches Pegasus for a while. There are far more emotions in those deep blue eyes than any eleven-year-old at his own birthday party should have.

The suspicion is back. The fear is back. The resignation of knowing that the other shoe is about to drop. He says, quietly: ". . . Thank you, Mister Crawford. This was very nice of you. I guess I don't . . . understand, but thank you."

A canned response, summoned merely out of stiff politeness. Surrounded by so much affluence, and so many smiling faces, Seto is clearly on edge. The irony of this is not lost on _Mister Crawford_. His most overt attempt at kindness has proven to be almost entirely counterproductive.

Unless . . .

Pegasus lowers himself on one knee.

"I have told everyone who has asked, that the orphans of my city deserve more than they are given," Pegasus says slowly. "I hope that you will forgive me for prying, but it is my understanding that you've not had the chance to behappy in quite some time. None of you have. I am keeping my word, using the resources I have been able to build in order to make a difference."

Seto is searching the man's face, looking for something that he's obviously having trouble finding.

Pegasus winks. "It just so happens that, today, _you're _getting special treatment."

"Why?" Seto's eyes aren't wet, but they seem to be on the precipice of becoming so, just the same. "I mean, obviously it's my birthday. But . . . why _me_? Why all this? Why . . . everything?"

_Because the ghost of your mother has lodged into my subconscious mind, and she's bleeding into reality to reprimand me. That, or I've adopted your mother's image as my own personal Jiminy Cricket, and she actually has nothing to do with the woman who brought you into the world. I'm not honestly sure_.

Pegasus looks up, over the boy's shoulder.

Yuki is standing there, watching him.

She shrugs.

"Because . . . I've been lucky. Luckier than most people my age. I've made the right connections, the right choices, and I've built something that most people don't have." Pegasus closes his eye, wondering if he should make a gamble like this, then decides that there's no way to tell unless he does. He continues: "I've decided to _use _what I've built to make my city a better place. I could give to charity. I _have _given to charity. I've used my name and influence in every way that I can think of. Except . . . on a personal level."

". . . I'm your charity case," Seto says flatly.

_What has happened to this boy, that __**this **__is what brings back his cynicism_?

"No," Pegasus says. "I believe, as fervently as I have ever believed anything, that you are someone I can trust to help me. You have a gift, Seto. I would like nothing more than to help you use it—if you'll have me—to make a change here. I want Domino to be a city that _doesn't _ignore its most vulnerable citizens. A city that puts actions behind its politicians' fancy promises."

Seto still looks unsure, but he no longer looks insulted.

Pegasus breathes deeply, and takes a plunge. ". . . It's what Cyndia would have wanted."

Seto's expression changes yet again. "Cyndia?"

Pegasus smiles wistfully. "My wife."

Something sparks in Seto's eyes, and he looks down at his brother for a moment before forcing himself to look Pegasus in the eye again. "I'm sorry," he says. The words are heavy with sincerity. He knows what it's like to lose someone irreplaceable. The boy bites his lower lip, then tries on a smile. "My dad—he said it was always good . . . to get married early. Before you're smart enough to know any better."

The laughter that bubbles up in Pegasus surprises him, and before he knows what's happening, he's giggling like a maniac. It takes him a long time to calm himself enough to talk. "Y-Your father . . . sounds like a wise man, Seto. I think I would have been honored to meet him."

"Pa-pah?" Mokuba says suddenly. The way he says it, the word rhymes with _hacksaw_. "Pa-pah coming?"

Seto flinches, but not as violently as he might have. "No, Mokie. He's not coming. Papa's dead. He's . . . in Heaven."

Mokuba's face screws up in confusion.

"Well," Pegasus says as he stands back up, "I do hope that my Cyndia has found your parents up there." He looks at the sky. A token gesture, but not without its romance. "I'm sure they would take great delight in meeting each other."

Pegasus turns away, and notes that Sugoroku Mutou and Ellie McAllister are both watching him.

Sugoroku smiles, nods approvingly, but says nothing.

Ellie, on the other hand, unhinges her jaw.

". . . Are you a fucking _wizard_?"

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Before the topic of opening presents can be brought up, Kristine Hathaway arrives on the scene. With her is an older woman, perhaps in her fifties. She's dressed in jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and Birkenstock sandals. There's a certain grandmotherly air about this woman, especially standing next to Kristine, who's opted for business casual.

None of the children notice her at first.

None of them likely _would _have noticed her, if not for Mokuba Yagami. No one was surprised anymore, when the youngest resident of the Children's Home shrieked and generally made a nuisance of himself in excitement. But there's something different this time, something that surprises even Seto.

For perhaps the first time in his young life, Mokuba forgets about his brother. He cries out, at the top of his tiny lungs: "**_Vawwy_**!"

The woman with Kristine stops dead, her eyes _lock _on Mokuba, and she immediately breaks into the widest smile anyone has ever seen. She hunkers down, sitting on her heels, and waits with open arms as Mokuba rockets across the yard to her.

"Oh, Mokuba, _look _at you! Such a big boy you are!" The woman stands back up, affecting a groan as she lifts Mokuba with her. "I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be able to _do _this, you're growing up so fast!" She kisses Mokuba's cheek. "How _are _you, little one?"

Mokuba is too excited to answer. He contorts himself into a pretzel to look back at Seto—he can't forget his brother for _long_—and calls out to him: "Nii'tama! Vawwy!"

Seto, for his part, has lost all semblance of his usual faculties. Again. He looks ready to pass out. Pegasus is studying the woman, saying nothing. Sugoroku is studying Seto, also saying nothing.

The woman smiles. ". . . Hello, Seto."

It's Ellie who finally breaks into the awkwardness of the situation and elbows Seto in the ribs. "Oi. Birthday boy. Mind introducing the rest of the class?"

It's a joke. Most of the children are too caught up in playing and eating ice cream to notice anything that Seto is doing, much less an old lady. He has precious few friends, and even he knows that the inclusion of the rest of his fellow orphans was just to keep them from being angry and resentful.

"She . . . she was . . . my parents' best friend," Seto murmurs softly, delicately. "She used to w-watch us. When my . . ."

"Ah. Your old babysitter, hm?" It's a mark of just how little Seto is listening that he doesn't react badly. Ellie rolls her eyes. "Well, don't just stand there like a _dingus_, go say hi. Give her a hug, do a rain dance, _something_." She pushes Seto forward.

Seto stumbles. "H-Hi . . . Valery. How are you . . . um . . . doing?"

The woman, now with a proper name, smiles and kneels down again to stroke back Seto's hair with one hand, while she holds Mokuba to her with the other. She is clearly nothing even close to a stranger to these boys. "Just fine. I'm sorry it's been so long."

Seto notices that Kristine is holding a large box, wrapped in bright blue paper. "You . . . you got me something?" he asks. He obviously still isn't used to this concept.

"Of course I did, silly." Valery chuckles. "Joel and I saved up for something special. I think you'll like it." She winks.

Pegasus steps up now. "It looks like Missus Mutou is on her way back." He smirks at Seto. "What say we get to the exciting part, hm? This isn't your only gift, you know." He gestures to one of the picnic tables, where a pile of presents has been put together.

"Vawwy," Mokuba whispers, still perched as he is against Valery's hip. He points. "This Pay-_guh_-sis."

Valery blinks, then eyes Pegasus. "A . . . pleasure to meet you, sir. Have you been looking after my boys for me?"

Pegasus bows his head. "I try to do my part. Pegasus Crawford, ma'am. The pleasure is mine."

Introductions continue as Natsumi Mutou returns with her two little soldiers in tow. Each are holding parcels of their own. Valery looks ready to cry, as she meets Seto's friends. When they all head for the Big Table so that Seto can take stock of his bounty—surely the most important of all rituals—she has a hand on Seto's back, and _still _hasn't let go of Mokuba.

Yugi has given his new friend a _Magic &amp; Wizards _deck box, a case for his remaining cards, two sets of card sleeves, and five booster packs. "So you can start a collection _right_," he says, and blushes when Seto gives him an odd look.

Téa has opted for the boy's more intellectual pursuits, and has on offer a hardcover collector's edition of _The Hobbit_. "It's a great story. And my mom says the author wrote it for his son. As a bedtime story. So . . . you know. Maybe you could read it to your brother."

Mokuba, obviously with help from Sugoroku Mutou, has picked out a game of _Trivial Pursuit_, successfully combining _both _of his brother's primary hobbies. He tries to explain why this was a good idea, probably trying to remember what Sugoroku said in his initial sales pitch, but Mokuba's memory _and _vocabulary team up to sabotage him, so that his soliloquy makes about as much sense as an upside-down newspaper.

Seto, however, seems to follow along just fine. He smiles, and offers his brother a hug and another kiss on the forehead; he's done this far more often than usual today. A couple of onlookers snicker at this, but Seto offers them a gift of his own—an icy glare that promises broken bones and loose teeth—which silences them entirely too quickly.

Sugoroku holds out his hands. "I must admit that I have no gift to give you," he says gravely. "But! Here's what I _have _done, m'boy. My shop just so happens to be hosting Domino's _Magic &amp; Wizards _City Championships this year. I've paid your entrance fee for the preliminary rounds next month."

Seto blinks. ". . . A tournament?"

"Indeed. I hope you're ready."

Seto's lips curve into a dangerous grin.

Pegasus, standing off to the side, chuckles.

Ellie doesn't present a box, but reaches into her jacket. "I, uh . . . didn't wrap anything. I'm cheap. But, uh . . . well. Yeah." She pulls out a carefully-folded, blue-and-grey scarf and presents it to her young housemate. "Thought about gettin' a blanket, but it felt weird. Next time you hafta take the kid outside to calm him down at night, you can make sure he's warm. Winter's coming, y'know. Gotta be responsible."

Seto takes the scarf, looks at it, smiles. "I will. Thank you."

"Oh, shut up. It's lame and you know it. Lookit all this loot you got."

"No, I . . . I mean it, Ellie. Thank you."

He wraps the scarf around his own neck, and looks rather proud to do so; particularly when Valery reaches over to adjust the way it fits. Ellie shakes her head. But she's clearly pleased, if the slight reddening of her face—and the fact that her lips keep twitching upward despite her best efforts—is any indication.

Dan and Kristine offer other winter-appropriate articles of clothing, including gloves, a fur-lined hat, and a new jacket. Unlike most children, Seto seems genuinely touched, especially when he realizes they have _also _gotten an outfit for Mokuba.

"It's not like he _doesn't _need winter clothes," Kristine says, "just because his birthday happens to be in July."

Last comes the big box from Valery, the least expected of all gifts. Seto seems like he doesn't want to bother with it; the gift of this woman from his past even _being _here is enough. He has precious few pleasant memories of the past few years, and Valery is clearly responsible for a number of them.

When Seto finally decides to open it, and realizes what it is that his old babysitter has gotten him, he once again forgets how to speak.

Ellie lets out a low whistle.

Yugi's eyes bug out of his head; even Téa seems impressed.

"You . . . got me a . . . Nintendo 64?" Seto whispers, awestruck.

Valery shrugs. "You love videogames. Have you been so busy taking care of your brother that you've forgotten?" Seto, slack-jawed, doesn't answer. "You can take it over to your friend's houses on weekends. Besides . . . haven't you said that you want to _make _games like this? You have to keep up on current trends if you're going to do that, you know."

Seto still has no words. He gets up and hugs Valery in absolute silence.

". . . Happy birthday, darling."

The other children have taken notice of this last offering. Some of them, anyway. A soft murmuring rises up about hooking it up in the TV room. The murmuring rises in volume, and eventually Seto notices it. He looks around, surprised at this sudden interest from his peers.

"Ah. Before you get started on the rest of your day . . . if I might be permitted to step forward?" Pegasus says, and Seto jumps because he's obviously forgotten how many people are here. Pegasus has been dead quiet for the past half-hour, observing and reflecting.

Seto turns. "Yes?"

"Perhaps you might permit Dan and Kristine to help the others set up the console? I'd like to speak with you alone for a moment."

"Um . . . okay. Sure."

Pegasus takes his young charge away from the crowd. The fact that Seto leaves his brother with Valery without a word, or a glance, is the clearest possible testament to his trust in her. Everyone—Dan, Kristine, the Mutous, even Ellie—can't hide their shock.

Pegasus speaks first, as they walk. "I know today has been rather overwhelming for you. I do apologize for that."

Seto fidgets. "I . . . no. It's okay. I just . . . I'm not . . ."

Pegasus sits down on the grass, leans back, and looks up at the sky. After a moment, Seto sits down with him. "I may have made a grave mistake earlier this week, Seto. I was supposed to have a private meeting with an old friend of mine, someone who is almost directly responsible for my company's success. Today."

Seto frowns. He doesn't speak.

"When I called to reschedule, he was irate, to say the least of it." Pegasus leans forward now, and looks Seto in the eye. "He wanted to know what was so important about this party, that I would be so rude to him. I was rather dismissive, you see, when I made that call."

"It's just a party," Seto says finally.

"No. It's not. It's _your _party. And . . . there's the rub, Seto. This friend of mine didn't understand why you, a . . . gutter rat from a backwoods orphanage . . . were more important than he was."

Seto's eyes flare up, and his jaw tightens. He clenches his small, delicate hands into fists. "And why _am _I?" he asks coolly.

"Well, for _one _thing, I don't take kindly to adults who stoop to insulting children. Particularly since, well, let's be honest. To most people, _I'm _still a child. But for another, I made a promise. To myself. You see, Seto, when I first arrived at this orphanage, I wasn't sure what I was going to get out of it. I knew what I wanted to do, but I had no idea how it was going to turn out. I promised myself that I would see it through, no matter what it cost me."

". . . Okay?"

"And then _you _came up. You and your brother. And I realized what I was going to do. Perhaps this is the wrong venue, and the wrong time, to do this, but I think I've danced around my intentions long enough for one lifetime." He rubs his chin, draws in a breath, lets it out.

Seto looks nervous now.

"Seto, I'm a young, reckless, idealistic socialite. I've spent my life pretending that I know more than I do, with grander aspirations than any decent human being would ever _think _of, and I'm probably entirely too young and arrogant to be in any kind of position of power. But . . . it's perhaps thanks to these qualities that I have been able to build the beginnings of what I like to call an empire in the gaming community. So I ask you . . . would you be interested in joining me?"

Seto is silent for a long time. "W-What?" he finally chokes out, breathless and unbelieving.

"I told you, some time ago, that I was here to adopt," Pegasus explains. "I don't see myself marrying again. This is my only real option, if I want to do my part to shape the next generation. Obviously, things aren't set in stone, in any fashion. I'm only partway through the process of qualification. I'm not fit to be anyone's guardian just yet. But I think it prudent to ask, before I move forward . . . if you, and your brother, would do me the honor of accepting my invitation."

Bright blue eyes grow too large to be allowed.

Pegasus holds out a hand.

"Seto Yagami . . . would you, and your brother, like to live with me?"


	17. To Take Hold of Heaven

_**This chapter marks a first in this story's history. Instead of the usual 3 scenes, this one has 4. The primary reason for this was because there was no feasible way for me to meld the last two scenes into one.**_

_**But I figured I could break with tradition for this. This chapter marks the end of the first multi-chapter arc in the story. Well, that's how I view it, anyway.**_

_**Seto's birthday has always been a surprisingly deep concept for me. Simply because I've never quite managed to pin down what he would do. This time, though, everything unfolded pretty much autonomously.**_

_**I had very little to do with what happens here.**_

_**I hope you enjoy this send-off. I'd say things end on a very appropriate note.**_

_**Oh, and by the way. I recently joined Tumblr, following the example of a few people I've come to respect a great deal over the past couple of months. So if you'd like to see some of my theories, talk to me, or just . . . you know, do whatever. You can find me there.**_

**_Just look for iced-blood. You know me by now. "In Cold Blood" is my new home on social media. Because . . . well, why not?_**

_**Now, then. We still have a party going on.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Pegasus Jareth Crawford has prided himself, over the past scattering of months, at his ability to connect the forbidden truths delivered by his _prized golden eye_ to his understanding of human nature. This is to say that he knows quite well, better than most people, how the innumerable songs and dances of social interaction will play out. He can predict. He can analyze. He can formulate.

Pegasus can say, in all honesty, that he hasn't been surprised by anything anyone has done, or said, in over a year.

Except, that is, when dealing with anything to do with this boy.

_This boy_.

It isn't an offer. It's merely a formality. Pegasus could no more sweep young Seto out of this orphanage right now than he could snuff out the sun. There is red tape to cut through, promises to make and keep, preparations to be made. He merely asks because it seems the expected thing. It wouldn't do to simply spring up on him one day and say: "Good news, Seto! You and your brother are moving in with me! I'm an altruist! I know what you need _much _better than you do!"

Even if, sometimes, on the darker fringes of the night when the ghosts are loudest, Pegasus believes that.

Be that as it may, Seto stares at Pegasus like he's just offered to buy him the Taj Mahal. Ice coats the boy's eyes, slowly but firmly, and his shock and awe—and the smile that wants to visit his face—disappear. He lowers his head and says, in an almost inaudible mumble:

"So _that's _what this birthday party is. A bribe."

And even though Pegasus has been slowly sifting through this child's mind for months, trying to construct _just the right way _to deal with him to maybe, just maybe, convince him that life as a Crawford is a good deal, there aren't words for the sudden stab of shocked betrayal that slams into his heart.

Seto looks up into Pegasus's face again, and only then realizes he's spoken out loud. Stark horror paints over his entire essence, and his lower lip quivers as he realizes what he's done. What he's said.

"I . . . I-I . . . oh, _God_, I . . ."

_I just ruined everything_. That's what he's thinking. _He asked me to live with him, and I insulted him_. _He's angry with me_. _He has to be. He's __**furious**__ and he's going to leave and never come back and I did it it's my fault I'm so sorry Mokie I ruined your chance at a real home because I'm an __**idiot **__I can't do anything right I can't even—_

Seto doesn't realize that he's starting to cry.

Pegasus tries to think, tries to analyze, tries to predict, for roughly three seconds. Then he's pulling the boy into a bone-crushing hug because it's the only thing that makes sense. He's holding this strong, beautiful, broken boy because it's the only thing he can think to do.

I'm sorry," Pegasus whispers, so quietly that even he can barely hear the words. Seto is shaking, but his thoughts have ground to a screeching halt. "I'm so, _so _sorry, little one." Silence. Absolute, stifling silence. "Who hurt you so badly that you _think _this way?"

Seto doesn't respond, even in his own mind. He's still trembling. He leans against Pegasus, clutches at his sleeve. Tears finally spring from the boy's eyes in silence, as his breath hitches and comes out in a quiet, keening whimper.

Pegasus Jareth Crawford strokes back Seto's hair, cradles him like his own, and tries to think past the inferno of biblical rage that's rising behind both of his eyes.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

". . . I'm s-s-sorry. I . . . I don't—this is so . . . embarrassing, I . . ."

Pegasus sighs long-sufferingly, reaches out, and flicks Seto's forehead. The boy flinches back, blinks several times, and stares. His mouth opens, but he has clearly forgotten whatever other words he intended to tack onto his latest soliloquy.

The thick, heavy jacket Pegasus is wearing is a dark enough color that any evidence of Seto's weakness is fast disappearing. Pegasus puts a hand on Seto's shoulder and squeezes. "Listen to me, Seto. I want you to listen to me, very closely. Can you do that?"

Seto knuckles his still-wet eyes with one hand. Sniffs. Wipes at his face.

He nods.

Pegasus watches in silence as the boy composes himself—entirely too quickly, with far too much practice—and feels a piece of his heart break. He closes the eye that can be closed, silences the one that can't, and draws in a breath like he thinks it's the last one he'll ever have.

When he speaks again, it's the first time that his voice has been completely, unabashedly honest in more than a year. It very nearly breaks from lack of practice.

"Never apologize for what you need." He squeeze's Seto's shoulder again. "_Never_." Seto starts to speak again, can't, and simply sits there. He can't maintain eye contact for long. He fidgets, unable to hide his obvious discomfort even though he clearly believes it to be the height of rudeness _not _to.

Something resembling a real smile crosses Pegasus's lips.

". . . When your brother cries, are you embarrassed?" he asks. "When little Mokuba is running around, trying to find someone to play with, and all the other children are looking down their noses at him . . . do you feel the slightest bit of understanding for _them_? Do you think Mokuba should just shut up and stop being a nuisance?"

"No."

The answer is firm, angry, offended.

"And why is that?"

"Because . . . because . . . ! He needs _friends_! He needs to learn how to socialize! He's too _young_ to have everyone teaching him that the world's full of _idiots _and _jerks _who won't ever love him!"

The smile comes full force. Pegasus leans his forehead against Seto's. "So are _you_, my boy." As he stands up, Pegasus ruffles Seto's hair. "Don't you _ever_ feel embarrassed for crying. Do you hear me? You have fifty more reasons to cry than anyone else here." He winks. "Trust me. I checked."

Seto's emotions fluctuate into something resembling the confusion that would be appropriate after a statement like that. He scrambles to catch up to Pegasus as he realizes that the man is heading inside.

"W-What? What does _that _mean?"

"I've seen your heart, Seto Yagami," Pegasus says loftily. "And I know what you've been thinking ever since you woke up this morning. You've been thinking . . . this is too good to be true. When is the other shoe going to drop?" Seto doesn't respond, which in itself is a response. "Well . . . it has. Hasn't it? And it was just as awful and horrific as you ever could have anticipated. Wasn't it?"

He stops walking and looks back at the boy, who's slowed down his pace almost to a crawl. Seto nods.

Pegasus smirks. "And just . . . look at this." He spreads out his arms. "The world _hasn't _ended."

There is a beat of silence again.

The stunned smile that crosses little Seto's face makes everything worth it.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

By the time Seto heads into the TV room, his newest prize is already set up and waiting for him. A small crowd of children are sitting around it, like acolytes to some new religion, waiting. Someone—Ellie, probably—has apparently enforced a rule: no one is to touch Seto's game console until _Seto _touches Seto's game console. She has the look of a prison guard, the way she's keeping her stern gaze on the younger kids. Like she's just _waiting _for one of them to step out of line.

The only thing missing from the image is a baton for her to slap against her open palm.

Too excited at the prospect of _finally _seeing the latest in entertainment technology, most of the children don't notice the look on Seto's face, nor the way he's carrying himself in general. Even Ellie is too busy ushering him over to a seat of honor where he'll have the best view of the action; she doesn't notice the wet streaks still on his cheeks. Mokuba, completely oblivious, clambers up into his Nii'tama's lap and points at the television like _anybody _might have forgotten where it was.

One person, however, does notice that Seto has been crying. And she notices _immediately_.

But as the game is turned on—"_It's-a me, Mario_!"—Pegasus strides over to Valery Hitcher long before she can think to approach _him_.

There is no more room for facades. No more time for games. Pegasus looms over the woman like a thunderstorm; the full fury of a forgotten mother has taken possession of every synapse in his brain.

Barely even a whisper, through clenched teeth: "What _happened _to that child?!"

Valery blinks, momentarily flummoxed, before she looks over at Seto like she's never seen him before. She says, ". . . I could ask you the same question, Mister Crawford."

Pegasus grinds those teeth. She's being _flippant_?

"Come with me," he snarls, without even entertaining the _possibility _that she won't obey. He strides out into the adjoining hallway and resists a sudden urge to send his fist through the nearest wall. He whirls on Valery, watches her shut the door behind her, blocking out the game and the children both.

"I have _never _met a more broken human being in my life, and he's barely old enough to count as a statistic! Everyone in this godforsaken place, _yourself included_, acts like it's perfectly normal for that boy to take on responsibilities society would think _me _too young to handle! I know! My own staff has called me _insane_! He's half my age and he's been doing this, shouldering this, for so long that it's _habit_!"

Pegasus can feel something _break _behind his Millennium Eye, but he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't care. He's furious. _Rapturously _angry. Much longer and he won't remember how to speak. He'll be down to tossing back his head and roaring fit to rupture Heaven, and _this woman is just staring at him_.

"_Well_?!"

Of all things, Valery smiles. She _smiles_.

The shock is such that Pegasus rocks back on his heels like she's just hit him with a lead pipe. He sees stars for a moment. His breath catches in his throat, and he only lets it out when some distant part of him—some hidden sanity that's been waiting for a foothold—forces him to realize he's holding it.

"I'm sorry," Valery says slowly. "This must seem so inappropriate. It's just . . . you don't know _how _long I've been waiting for someone to have a reaction like that. For someone to finally ask _why_."

Ice-cold wonder washes down his back. Pegasus shivers.

But now that the dragon is awake, it isn't about to go to sleep. When next he speaks, he's _hissing_.

". . . What . . . was _done _to him . . . ?"

He watches her calculate her answer, sift through memories that he's already seen, replayed over and over in his own head from a much more reliable source. Seeing all this again does nothing for him; it doesn't calm him, it doesn't reassure him. He used to think that having these sorts of answers would help him. How, after all, could they _not_?

In this case, the answers do him no good whatsoever.

But he has to act like they do. He has to pretend that he doesn't know _exactly _what she's going to tell him. Even in the depths of this maelstrom, he knows full well that he should be ignorant.

That's supposed to be the source of his rage. After all.

Valery speaks, after what feels like seven years. "His godparents." That's what she says. For a while, it's _all _that she says. She knows that Pegasus has already heard about the boy's parents, so she's discarded _that _to focus on what he must _not _know.

"What of them?" Pegasus prompts, because that's the next step. "What could they _possibly _have done to him in such a short span of time as they had?"

Valery blinks, slowly, at him. "Nothing. They did . . . nothing. They didn't feed him, they didn't wake him up in the morning, they didn't check his homework, they didn't sign him up for softball, they didn't pick him up after school, they didn't . . . do _anything_." She gestures, more sharply than she realizes. "He was left, literally, to his own devices. And it's only because he's so much sharper than he has a right to be that he managed half as well as he did. That Mokuba, the poor little thing, even _survived_ it."

". . . And what of _you_?" Pegasus asks suddenly. "What did _you _do? Clearly you have plenty of opinions. Statements. Ideas. Did you have any _actions_?" The irony of this question is not lost on him, and that's perhaps the reason it comes out as venomous as it does.

Valery doesn't lower her gaze. She doesn't give an inch. "I did what I could. It wasn't much."

The woman's sheer audacity is impressive.

Pegasus runs a hand through his hair. "Absolute travesty," he mutters. "They would trust these people enough to name them 'godparents.'"

"The death of a loved one can bring out the worst in people, Mister Crawford," Valery says. She gestures to the door she closed. "It can also bring out the best in them." She steps forward, takes hold of one of Pegasus's hands in both of hers. "You don't know them well. Not yet. I can tell. But I can also tell how much you love them already. Trust in that, Mister Crawford. That's the only answer I can give to you."

Pegasus blinks. Stares.

For the second time in so many hours, he is absolutely stunned.

". . . Forgive my saying, ma'am, but we've just met. How could you _possibly _tell if I _love_ these boys or not?"

Valery chuckles. "Mister Crawford, you _still _look like you're chewing on glass. If that isn't love, then what _is_?"

* * *

**4.**

* * *

He doesn't leave until long after dark.

Pegasus stands in the doorway, as Seto ensures that his brother is tucked in and resting peacefully. The two other boys with whom he shares this room are already long removed from the waking world, and that's good. It's only fitting. Pegasus knows how little Seto cares for his bunkmates.

He knows all too well.

"So . . . did you enjoy your birthday, Seto?" he asks.

The boy doesn't smile, but his face is pleasant enough. "I did. I got thirteen Power Stars. Thank you. Again. For . . . everything."

The second time that Seto Yagami has thanked Pegasus _for everything_.

"It's late," Pegasus murmurs. "I should let you sleep. But if you wouldn't mind stepping out with me for a moment? The moonlight should suffice. I'd like to show you something."

Seto steals a look at his sleeping sibling, then turns and heads for the door.

They walk. Seto listens.

Pegasus talks.

"I designed every monster, every spell, every trap . . . well. For the first set, anyway." Seto doesn't have to ask what his mentor is talking about, so he doesn't. "I painted every piece of artwork. Every one. I still _have _those canvasses." He chuckles. "I remember . . . one, in particular. It was a blur. The composition was finished in two hours. From sketch to completion. I had never lost track of myself so thoroughly, and I've been doing this for most of my life. Something, I don't know what, was guiding my hand."

Seto still doesn't respond. But he's paying _rapt _attention.

"I'm not sure if that's the reason, but . . . the cards that bore that image. I couldn't bear the idea that the _power _behind that experience should be diluted. It's selfish, I know, but I knew before the game ever went into production that _this _one would be rare. Perhaps the rarest of all. And I _also _knew that the people who would hold that image in their hands, the people who would wield that power . . . would be special."

Pegasus stops walking, cradled as he is in soft, translucent light. Seto stops beside him, looks up at him. He looks so vulnerable, but so resolute. So . . . tragic.

Pegasus kneels down, so that he's eye level with this tiny, Byronic hero. He smiles. "You, Seto Yagami . . . are special. Not because of your intellect, or your aptitude for learning. Not because you are strong. Capable. But . . . simply because . . . you're _here_. Right now. In this moment. You're _here_. You have done me an indescribable honor. You have shown me what I've been looking for . . . even though I had no idea that I was looking for it."

Seto tilts his head. He's clearly confused.

Pegasus slips something out of a pocket. "I would have you carry something. I would have you be a guardian. A warden." He presses the card into Seto's hand.

Seto looks down, slowly.

His gaze sweeps over crystalline scales, wings wide enough to cover the stars. The long, sweeping, serpentine neck. The eyes like sapphires. Those eyes are power. Those eyes are strength.

Those eyes are glory.

Little Seto Yagami, too thin and too cynical, looks at his Blue-Eyes White Dragon with all the quiet devotion of a lifelong priest, faced with the object of his worship. His mouth opens, his throat works, and all he can manage are two words.

". . . She's beautiful."

Pegasus's face pinches into something close to incredulity. "She?" he repeats.

Seto looks up, finally smiling again. He nods, and Pegasus has no choice but to believe him.


	18. The Wellspring of the Muses

_**I'm pretty sure everyone understands the basic premise of this story. The funny part is, it's liable to take me 50,000 words to even reach that point. This came about firstly because I couldn't help but think that, for all the bad blood between them in the anime, Pegasus would be a much better match, in terms of family, for Seto and Mokuba than the father they got.**_

_**He already runs a toy company, after all. He's a game designer. And that's exactly what Seto aspires to be, and eventually becomes. I couldn't help but wonder what his childhood would have been like if his dreams and aspirations had been encouraged, rather than dismissed.**_

_**But still. Adoption takes time. Building trust with someone like Seto takes time. Mokuba, not so much. My personal head-canon regarding Mokuba's age makes it even easier for him to just go along with whatever, at this point in the timeline.**_

_**But anyway, based on what I just said, we have another 10,000 words to get through before any of this speculation of mine even matters.**_

_**Let us begin.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

The woman makes a sound in her throat like she's choking on something. "Those poor children . . . what an _embarrassment_. Can't these people get something _appropriate_ for them to wear?"

Seto Yagami looks up from his dueling deck—now blessed with the most powerful dragon in existence as its commanding force—and looks the woman dead in the face. "It's a _shirt_, ma'am. It covers me. It's doing its job. How, exactly, am I an embarrassment?"

He knows what she's referring to, of course. He's just being flippant. She's talking about the fact that Seto's t-shirt is bright pink, with a rainbow emblazoned in glitter on its front. It is the precise opposite of anything Seto would have picked out for himself.

But then, Mokuba isn't exactly well-versed in fashion.

He wanted to find Nii'tama a shirt that matched the one _he _picked out, from the latest donation drive. As luck would have it, he'd found one. All that was left was for Seto to wear it.

It was an easy choice to make.

"I . . . I didn't mean _you _were—you poor boy. It's just horrible, that you would be forced to wear . . . well . . . _that_."

"Please don't assume anyone _forced_ me to do anything, ma'am," Seto says shortly, turning his attention back to his cards. "I'm wearing this to teach my brother something important. And frankly, you're ruining it. Could you please leave us alone?"

"They should have at least provided you with a _boy's _clothes." She's looking at Mokuba now, who's playing with a model airplane he found buried in a cardboard box of old toys. He, too, is wearing a pink shirt. His, however, has a Pegasus on it.

Seto wonders if that's ironic or not.

"This is just going to _confuse_ him. Poor dear."

"He's wearing a shirt that he likes," Seto snaps; he's getting angry now. "_You're _the one liable to confuse him. _Please_. Would you mind leaving us _alone_?"

The woman looks offended. Likely she's thinking something untoward about Seto's horrible manners. She's just _concerned_. She's just trying to _help_. She's just trying to make herself _feel _better.

Seto clenches his teeth and waits for the woman to speak again.

His fingers clutch his cards much harder than he would like to admit.

"You know, you _might _do well to—"

Seto shoots to his feet. "_What_?!" he snarls; the woman flinches back, stunned and a little frightened. "What are you going to tell me to do? Hm? Be polite? Be courteous? _Shut up and listen_? You aren't my mother, you aren't _his _mother, you have _no business _passing criticism on what we're wearing, and I've asked you _twice _now to leave us alone. I'm done asking. _Go away_."

The woman's mouth works soundlessly for a long moment.

She's _flabbergasted_.

"Pardon me, ma'am," comes a quiet rumble from behind the woman, as Dan Elliot steps up to her. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This establishment does not condone harassment of any kind."

"_Harassment_? I was—"

Dan's face is cast in iron. "You were, and are, upsetting him. If you have further business to conduct here, I would be happy to assist you. If you'll come with me to my office. Otherwise, if you do not vacate this area, I'm going to have to call the authorities. I really don't think you want a simple misunderstanding to escalate so far."

Fuming, stuttering, and thoroughly out of her element, the woman storms off.

Dan draws in a deep breath. "Are you boys okay?" he asks.

Seto nods slowly. "T-Thank you . . . sir."

Dan chuckles, offers a lopsided grin. "What's this 'sir' business? Are we strangers now? You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you do this sort of thing on purpose just to get a rise out of people."

Seto bristles. "Mokie wanted to wear that shirt. He likes . . . he likes things that can fly. He wanted _me _to wear this one. Pink used to be a boy's color, anyway. So even if it was any of her business, she's still wrong."

"Okay," Dan says, holding up his hands. "I get it. But _you're _clearly embarrassed, or at least uncomfortable, and I think maybe you're wearing that as a statement. You're daring people to say something snide so you have an excuse to punch them in the face."

Seto sneers. "And if I am? It's not like we have to worry about getting adopted anymore." The words come out in a torrent, and by the time he realizes what he's saying, it's too late to choke them off. Seto flinches, looks down at the floor, and licks at his lips. "I mean . . . I _hope _we don't."

Dan starts to say something, stops, and smiles. "Fair enough," he finally decides to say. Seto snaps his head back up and searches Dan's face. "Got me there. But . . . well. It's not like you won't have to deal with other people just because you won't be staying _here _anymore. Mister Crawford is a businessman. He has partners, and employees, and who knows who else? I just . . . wonder sometimes. Maybe there's a better way to teach your brother important lessons than fighting with stupid people."

He winks.

Seto's mouth twitches. ". . . Maybe."

Dan turns. Starts walking away. "By the way, Seto. Kind of proves my point, here, maybe. Ellie McAllister just got pulled into Kristine's office for starting a fistfight in the backyard."

Seto blinks. "H-Huh? What? _Why_?"

"I believe I heard someone say something about 'Yagami's girly shirt.' Ellie apparently responded by showing off, quite physically, her personal definition of _girly_." He chuckles. "You're getting a touch more popular around here than I think you bargained for."

Seto can't hide the pleasure that rushes to his face in the form of a blush, but he still looks suspicious. He says, "You look pretty giddy, even though one of your charges got in a fight."

Dan turns to look over his shoulder. "Yeah. It's probably not very _noble _of me. But honestly, I find the whole thing kind of funny, actually." His face turns grim. "Now, if you'll excuse me, boys. I have to go pretend I don't."

Mokuba looks up. "Bye-bye!"

Dan waggles his fingers in Mokuba's direction. Mokuba giggles. Waves back.

Seto slips his cards into his pocket and stands up.

"Come on, Mokie. Let's go to the sandbox."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

As Seto leads his brother to the playground, and Mokuba dances around because the sandbox is where they _build _things, and _building _things is his most extra-special favorite, he spies Kristine Hathaway stepping out of her office with two of the other children in tow. One of them is Ellie McAllister; the other is a boy Seto doesn't recognize very well, but he thinks his name is Phillip.

Whatever his name is, the boy sees Seto and Mokuba and his eyes flare up. As they're passing each other on the walkway, he snaps: "Frickin' glittery _princess_, you proud of yourself? Got your _girlfriend _protecting y—"

Before Kristine, or Ellie, can say anything, Seto balls up his fist and _slams _it into the older boy's stomach. Phillip doubles over, the rest of his question coming out in a heavy grunt. He stumbles, doesn't fall, but he's holding his middle. He's more surprised than hurt, Seto is sure. Phillip is big, and Seto isn't.

Seto glares up at Phillip with ice in his eyes. "I'm going to _hope _you have a problem with _me_. If you've been making fun of my brother, next time I'll aim lower. Now _get bent_. I'm busy."

Ellie tosses back her head and laughs fit to split her sides. She's scuffed up, her lip is bleeding, but she looks . . . bright. Certainly she's in better shape than Phillip. Kristine eyes her sternly, but Ellie isn't paying attention. When Phillip tries to look intimidating, looming over Seto like he wants to _eat _him, Ellie just keeps laughing.

"Seto." Kristine's voice is icy. "Come with me."

Seto crosses his arms; he's not in a good mood. "I hope you realize you're not going to teach me anything. I have no intention of _calming down _or _letting you take care of things_. Ever. I'll come with you, but whatever lecture you have for me, it isn't going to work."

Kristine looks tired. And when she looks at Seto, her face is the quintessence of disappointment. "I know."

Seto takes hold of his brother's hand and follows behind Kristine. "Mokie's coming with me." There is no room for argument.

". . . I know."

"Why's _that _little snot get special treatment?" Phillip demands.

Kristine groans. "We'll disregard the fact that it's frankly _dangerous _to leave Mokuba alone. It's because Seto has been sent to my office thirty-four times since he's been here, and _each time _it's been because he's had to defend himself, or his brother, and I consider it a _different _sort of problem to _stop _fights than to _start _them."

Seto decides he would much rather walk beside Ellie than his newest antagonist.

She ruffles his hair. "Don't listen to her, kiddo. Ya done good."

Seto wonders, as he blushes again, if this is how Mokuba feels when Seto praises _him_.

Kristine leads the four of them not back to _her _office, but to the director's. Dan is sitting behind his desk, looking over various stacks of paper. A pile of binder clips and staples sit at his hand, dangerously close to getting knocked over onto the floor. Boxes are stacked on every spare surface, and the only open space is leading from the door to the desk.

It's like debris and clutter are coming in from the back of the office and are slowly, so slowly, consuming it.

Seto wonders if, eventually, everything will start migrating _outside_. The Paper Monster, with origami fangs and ink dripping from its maw. Maybe its eyes would be those little ink pots people buy for old-fashioned pens. Seto finds himself cracking a smile, almost _giggling_, as he pictures it. It would make a good design for monster card, and he makes a mental note to tell Mister Crawford about it.

_It's not like we have to worry about getting adopted anymore._

Dan's brow crinkles. "Seto? Mokuba? What's _this_ about?" He looks at Kristine. "Why are _they _here?"

"He called me a glittery princess, so I punched him in the stomach," Seto says flatly. "I don't think he learned his lesson. You know, from getting beat up by a girl. Since he still thinks that's an insult." He glares up at Phillip. "Jerk," he mutters under his breath.

Ellie snickers entirely too loudly.

"_Seto_!" Kristine snaps. "That's _quite _enough."

Dan does a remarkable job of holding his composure, but he looks amused. For all of three seconds, anyway. "Seto, we talked about this. I know you said you were doing it to help your brother, but maybe this is one of those situations where picking your battles would be more important than standing your ground. If those shirts you're wearing are causing such an issue that _multiple _kids aregetting into fights about them, maybe find a different way to teach Mokuba about freedom of expression?"

That isn't what Seto is trying to teach Mokuba at all.

But it's close. And that counts for more than Seto really would have anticipated.

He bows his head. "Yes, sir."

Mokuba mimics the gesture as best as he understands it. Which means he bobs his head around a while and says something that _might _translate to what Seto said, but just as well might not mean anything at all.

"As for _you_, young lady," Dan says, pointing to Ellie. "It just so happens that _this _time, you were sticking up for some of the younger kids. Weren't you?" Ellie shrugs. "And you figured you had a point to make, anyway. That's all well and good. _But_, this isn't the first time _you've _been called into this office, either. So, we're going to have to figure something out. You, me, and Kristine, here. We're gonna hammer out a plan. Because I know you've got a good heart, and I'd _really _rather see you succeed instead of landing yourself in a detention center. Think you can play ball with me?"

Ellie shrugs again. ". . . I hear you, Chief. I'm listenin'."

Kristine looks stunned for all of four seconds, then her face melts into a smile.

She's probably thinking the same thing Seto is.

_Why wasn't this man in charge from the start_?

Dan nods. "Good. Now!" He leans forward and eyes Phillip. "_You're _a new face. So why don't you tell me what happened here today, so we can figure out the next step for you?"

It's a test.

Dan's face is smiling, but his eyes are like heat lamps.

Seto unconsciously straightens.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Sometime later, the Yagamis have finally made it to the sandbox off to one side of the cafeteria.

At first, Mokuba tries to do his part to help his brother build his creation. But after a while, Seto slips into a mode that the younger Yagami has already learned to recognize. He's lost in the process of realizing his vision; Seto has no eyes, ears, or faculties for anything—or anyone—else.

Mokuba occupies himself by grabbing a plastic pail and shovel and building his own masterpiece on another plot of land (otherwise known as the other side of the sandbox). His process is less about building and more about exploring. He will pack his pail full of sand, turn it into a squat little tower, then smash it with his hand. He will then poke around at the larger pieces with his fingers, digging around like he thinks he'll find secret treasures.

Sometimes, when Seto isn't in the mood to build and he's just looking after his brother, he will sneak a quarter, or a toy car, or an action figure into Mokuba's pail while he's filling it, so that he'll actually find something.

While the brothers build, the real world stops existing. Seto doesn't notice when other kids start gathering around to watch him. He doesn't hear Glen Hersh—his pet mouse, Snow, is perched on his left shoulder—let out a low whistle of appreciation.

Seto's hands are swift, sure, delicate. He can see every contour, every angle, in his mind's eye. All that's left is to be faithful to that vision. To not betray it. He thinks this, and believes it, but some part of him worries that he won't be able to maintain his momentum. His confidence grows with each successful twist of his fingers and soft sweep of his palms. He has to remind himself to slow down. To be calm. Steady. Meticulous.

He starts mumbling to himself as he works. "Restrooms are over here . . . more than _one_ set . . . here, too, on this side. Make sure the lines aren't too long. Kids pee a lot."

Eventually Mokuba stops paying attention to his digging game, and watches his brother.

"Look here, Mokie," Seto says, almost breathless, as he uses a thumbnail to add a few particular little details. Mokuba _is_ looking, but keeps his distance. He makes an inquisitive little sound in his throat.

"Ooooh . . ."

Seto stands up, splays out his hands, and smiles. He has built an amusement park. Roller coasters swerve majestically through the multitude of buildings, weaving like serpents. He's made a Ferris Wheel, various food stands and gift shops, and even a stage for concerts and magic shows.

"This is your brother's dream," Seto declares. "One day, there will be _real_ parks like this one! All over the world! And—and kids like us, kids without parents, they'll be able to come and play for free!"

Mokuba grins. "Go on rides!"

"That's right, Mokie." Seto's smile widens. "They'll go on rides, and play games, and there will be music and shows and contests. And they'll be able to eat all sorts of carnival food."

The toddler's eyes are sparkling. Seto's are, too.

A sudden shadow looms over Seto's creation, and his good mood. His entire body goes rigid, and he feels a wave of hot fury and embarrassment wash through him like lit coal oil. Another one of _Them _has come to cause trouble. They'll kick down Seto's work, stomp all over it, and they'll laugh at him like there's nothing at all _wrong _about it. Like spitting on someone else's dream is perfectly normal.

Why can't _anyone _leave them _alone_?

The shadow gets longer, bigger, then shrinks, as Pegasus Crawford hunkers down and studies what Seto has made. His manservant, Croquet, is standing off to the side. Seto eyes them both, waiting for them to speak before he lets himself feel relief.

Pegasus rubs at his chin. "This . . . is _very _good, Seto," he says, obviously surprised. He grins. "I didn't know you were an artist! A regular sculptor." He gestures. "Croquet, look at this. He's even worked in little patrons, walking around next to the gift shop. You can see them, right there."

"Most impressive," Croquet says gruffly. Seto can't tell if he's being sincere or not. He dares a glance, and sees that the man is actually smiling; a first, if Seto remembers correctly.

Seto always remembers correctly.

"Most children are content to just make a castle," Pegasus says. "Actually, not even an entire castle. Just the keep. But _you_ . . . you have a vision." He chuckles low in his throat. "Remarkable."

Seto says: "I'm going to build a real park, just like this one. You'll see. It'll be great!"

"Great!" Mokuba cries out.

Pegasus nods. "I'm certain of it." He glances at them both. "How are you today, boys?"

"Fine," Seto says, too quickly. Pegasus raises an eyebrow. "I . . . I got in trouble. For fighting. Sort of. It was _one _punch!"

Pegasus hums thoughtfully. "Just one, is it? And what did your opponent do to earn such a thing as just one punch? If I may ask."

Seto fidgets. "He . . . made fun of my friend. Ellie. Called her my girlfriend. Made it sound like I made her . . . protect me. Or something. Whatever. I don't care."

Pegasus puts on a devastated face. "What a _grievous _insult, to be called your girlfriend." He puts a hand to his lips. "She must be crushed."

Seto's face goes red. "That's not . . . ! I didn't . . . ! She . . . !"

Pegasus laughs, and ruffles Seto's hair. People keep _doing _that. "I'm teasing." He adjusts his position and rubs his chin again.

He studies the sand park for a while longer.

Then he looks up. "You know . . . I'd like to ask you something." He's directing this at Mokuba. "Little one . . . your shirt."

Seto's entire _being _rears back, ready to breathe fire.

Mokuba perks up.

Pegasus points. "Do you know what that is? There?"

Seto blinks. What . . . ?

Mokuba looks down at himself. He points, too. "Horsie." He looks back up at Pegasus. "Horsie _fly_." He points upward.

Pegasus smiles dotingly, and nods. "Yes. Very true. But, do you know the flying horsie's _name_?"

Mokuba tilts his head. Shakes it.

"Pegasus."

The boy's little face screws up in confusion. Then he points, quite decisively, at Pegasus.

Seto smiles again. Pegasus laughs. Even Croquet lets out a chuckle. "Yes." The man with the red suit and silver hair sits down just outside the sandbox, crosses his legs under him. Seto, feeling self-conscious now that he's looking _down _at the man, follows his lead. "That's right. Pegasus is me. But Pegasus is _also _the name of that horse, there."

". . . Same name?"

Pegasus nods. "That's right. You see, Pegasus was a white stallion, and his parents were Poseidon and Medusa. They're from Ancient Greece. A place _far away _from here, from a _long _time ago. His wings were _so powerful _that he could fly to Heaven! He went on grand adventures, taking legendary heroes _all over _the ancient world."

Mokuba probably only understands one word in six, but he's leaning forward and paying absolute attention anyway.

Pegasus holds up a finger. "My parents, my mother and father, named me after this _magnificent _creature." He points that finger at Mokuba. "And now you're wearing him."

Mokuba looks down at his shirt again. "Muh . . . der. Fah . . . der." He looks confused.

"His parents, Mokie," Seto says gently. "Mama. Papa."

"Ma-maw. Pa-pah."

"They took care of me," Pegasus says. "When I was little, like you. If I had a bad dream, or had to make something for school, or go somewhere . . . my mother and father would help me."

This, Mokuba seems to understand. He says, all too seriously: "_You _have Nii'tama, too?"

Pegasus considers this, then smiles. "I suppose so. How . . . lucky I was." He says this wistfully, and something passes his face that Seto thinks might be anger. Savage anger. It's gone almost immediately, and part of Seto wonders if he didn't imagine it. But another part is _sure _that he didn't.

"Sir," Croquet says. "Forgive me, but we have to get going. If you're to make it to Westridge in time for your class, we'd best get this business done."

"Class?" Seto echoes.

Pegasus nods. He groans, stands up, and wipes off his pants. "Yes, indeed. In order to attain certification, so that I might become a foster parent . . . I must attend workshops at Westridge College. It's back to school for me!" He takes a slim folder that Croquet hands him, and leafs through it. "I do hope that you have considered my offer, Seto. It won't be long now, you know, before this plan of mine can go into action."

Seto blinks. "Huh? I thought . . . I thought it was supposed to take a _year_."

Pegasus smiles. "_Adoption _may take a year. Yes. But fostering is another matter entirely. Once I finish these classes, sit for a few interviews, _et cetera_, _et cetera_. I won't bore you with the finer details. The state will want to observe for a while, to see if I and my prospective child . . . or children, as the case may be . . . are a good match for each other. That's why the full process takes as long as it does. Home inspections, interviews."

Something dawns in Seto's eyes that has no name.

His hands start shaking.

"You mean . . . we could . . . ?" He cuts himself off.

He can't say it out loud. Not again.

Pegasus says it for him: "It's very possible that you and your brother could have a new home by Christmas." Pegasus grins, then bows his head. "That is, of course, _if_ you are interested. I'd not impose upon you. Talk it over with your brother. Speak to Mister Elliot, or Miss Hathaway. Perhaps even your _girlfriend_."

Seto blushes again.

Pegasus chuckles. "Apologies." Croquet clears his throat, and Pegasus groans again. "_Yes_, yes, fine. I have _business _that needs doing. Forgive me. Enjoy the rest of your day, Seto. Mokuba. Until we meet again."

Pegasus offers a jaunty little salute. He leaves, and Croquet leaves with him. They're headed for Dan Elliot's office.

Mokuba comes up and takes hold of Seto's hand. "Nii'tama. Go home?"

Seto swallows the lump rising in his throat. ". . . Y-Yes. Mokie. I think . . . so."

Mokuba shakes Seto's arm frantically. "Take me! Nii'tama! I come _too_!"

Seto blinks, looks down at his brother, and pulls him into a hug. "Of course, Mokie. Of _course _you're coming. I wouldn't leave you." He kneels down, and puts a hand on Mokuba's cheek. "I'll _always _take you with me. No matter what."

Mokuba stands there for a while, looking nervous, then wraps his arms around Seto's neck. "Love Nii'tama."

Seto smiles, and rubs Mokuba's back. "I love you, too, baby brother. I love you, too."

They stay that way for a while.

When Pegasus and Croquet head back across the yard in the opposite direction a minute later, Seto remembers something. He calls out—"Mister Crawford!"—before his brain can catch up to him and remind him that the man is busy.

Pegasus stops at once. Turns. "Yes? What is it?"

Seto opens his mouth. Hesitates. Pegasus has turned his full attention on the boy. "I . . . I had . . . an idea. For a, um . . . for a new monster. F-For the game, I mean."

"Sir," Croquet says quietly. "We have to go. Now."

Pegasus waves a hand dismissively.

Seto hangs his head. "I'm s-sorry. You're busy. It . . . it can wait."

"Master Crawford."

"Not now, Croquet."

"_Sir_—"

"Bring the car around."

"We don't have _time_ to—"

"The longer you argue with me, the less time we'll have. _Bring the car around_."

Croquet starts to try again, stops himself, sighs. He shakes his head. "Yes, sir."

Pegasus walks over.

Seto looks up; Pegasus looks down.

"What's your idea, my boy?"


	19. The Witching Hour

_**If we count Seto's birthday as a single section, despite having taken three updates to conclude, then it's still the longest part of the story so far. However, as far as single chapter updates go, this one is the longest. By far. I didn't specifically plan to write 6,500+ words on Halloween, but it happened. I'm not sure why.**_

_**But, hopefully this won't be a problem.**_

_**This chapter, like the previous one, has 4 scenes instead of the usual 3.**_

_**Shall we?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Friday, at school, Yugi is the height of disappointed when his friend doesn't shown up in costume. He doesn't _say _so, he's too polite for that, but Seto knows all the same. Yugi has picked out a dark robe and a pointed wizard's hat—it looks like the hat to a girls' witch costume, actually, just with little stars glued on it—and he's carrying around a satchel instead of his backpack. He says he has a staff, too, but forgot it at home.

Téa, for her part, dresses in a soccer uniform, personalized with her own last name on the back of the jersey. She carries a ball with her, like a prop, throughout the day.

In all honesty, Seto had forgotten all about Halloween. His brain is still too overstimulated by his birthday just days ago—and the notion that another holiday, another celebration, is just a day away would have been too overwhelming if he'd remembered, anyway.

Seto might have known, though, that his new father _of course_ remembers the day.

As he stands here, outside the front gates of Oakwood Elementary School, thinking these things, he can't help but flinch when he thinks of Pegasus Crawford like that. _New father_. New parent. New guardian. Does he _have _such a thing? Can he _really _hope for such a thing?

Does he _deserve _such a thing?

Pegasus and Croquet are waiting for Seto in the main parking lot, and they flag him over. They're standing next to a silver sedan—the color of the car is actually a perfect match for Pegasus's hair, something that makes Seto dizzy for a moment—and talking about something when the boy approaches them.

Seto asks, idly and out of nerves more than anything else, what kind of car it is. It's a Signature Series Lincoln Town Car, the same model people usually use for stretch limousines; information that Seto files away just in case it might be useful someday.

Pegasus is dressed in much more traditional "business attire" than Seto is used to seeing: crisp charcoal slacks, a black sport coat, and a soft tan button-down shirt. No tie. Mirror-polished black shoes, matching belt. His hair, instead of flowing down his shoulders like a quicksilver waterfall, has been pulled back into a tail—except for his bangs, which frame his face . . . and cover his left eye.

Seto wonders about that eye. What happened to it? Why does Pegasus hide it all the time?

That hair reminds Seto of various anime characters, who wear their bangs long to cover _both _of their eyes and look more dramatic when drawn in profile. Does Pegasus like anime? Is he wearing a costume? Seto doesn't know.

Seto doesn't ask.

"Hail and well met, young master!" Pegasus says, laughing. "Tell me, do you know what tomorrow is?"

Seto fidgets. ". . . Halloween?"

"That's right! That's _absolutely _right! And I can guess from your current attire that you are unprepared for the festivities."

"I kind of . . . forgot."

Pegasus crosses his arms, looking stern. "Well, now. That's a problem, young man. A very serious problem." Seto flinches, looks away. Then Pegasus has a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm teasing, Seto." He sits on his heels, a move that he's obviously practiced a lot because he does it so easily. "But it looks like I'm going to have to show you a few little somethings. Tell me, have you talked to your brother?"

Seto nods, still fidgeting. He can't look the man in the eye.

". . . I . . . we . . . we'd like to. To . . . live with you."

He dares a glance, and Pegasus's face is split into a grin. His single visible eye is glowing. "Excellent! Well, that just makes it all the more important! It's my responsibility to make sure you stay on top of things, then."

"I-I'm getting the top grades in my year!" Seto blurts out.

Pegasus's grin softens. "I'm sure you've never let yourself get anything less. But that," he taps a finger on Seto's nose, "isn't what I'm talking about. I'm going to bet that you don't have a costume picked out. For you, _or _your brother."

Seto flinches again. "I . . . no. We don't . . . have any . . . money."

"Well, it just so happens that I do," Pegasus says, "and given that I'm _apparently _an adult, I daresay it's _my _responsibility to worry about that."

"But . . . ! But you . . . you've already spent so much money on . . . !"

Pegasus shakes his head. "You misunderstand. Please. Don't think I'm running up a tab. Listen to me, dear boy. I . . . Cyndia and I always knew we would have children. A family of our very own. Our own little world. We _dreamed _of having that. Celebrating holidays, going on vacations, picking out our own Christmas trees. All with a son or daughter, or both, coming along for the journey with us. Life saw fit to . . . deprive us of that." Pegasus's gaze goes far away for a moment. He comes back to himself quickly. "This is the only chance I'll have to live out my beloved's dream for our future. Please. I beg you. Permit me."

Seto looks down at his feet for a moment.

He remembers how horrified he had been, when he'd found out about the tuition his parents had had to pay, to send him to a private school. He remembers what his mother said:

"Seto, honey . . . providing for you isn't our burden. It's our privilege."

He remembers what _Yugi's _mother said, on the first day he met her:

"It's ruder to refuse a favor than to accept one."

"So what do you say?" Pegasus asks, startling Seto out of his awkward musings. "What if we were to drive down to the Children's Home, pick up your brother, and see if we can't track down something for you both to wear tomorrow? What would you say to that?"

Seto wipes his hands on his pants. "I . . . I would say . . . thank you. That's very nice of you." He hesitates. Stands there. Bites his lower lip. He thinks of Mokuba, and for reasons that he will never be able to properly replicate in his mind, he half-spreads out his arms and steps into the most criminally awkward hug he has ever experienced.

Neither Seto nor Pegasus are in a proper position for such a thing. Seto leans forward, presses his hands against Pegasus's jacket, stumbles back, starts to spread his arms again, steps forward again, leans to one side, then the other, then closes his eyes against _everything _and wants to _cry_ because he just can't do it he can't do this it's so simple why can't he _do _it—

Pegasus shifts himself, presses one hand against Seto's back, and pulls him forward. Seto finally remembers how to work his arms, and wraps them around the man's middle. He leans his cheek against Pegasus's shoulder, and stares at nothing. Pegasus's free hand strokes back his hair.

"You're welcome, Seto." A low, shaky whisper. "You are so, _so _welcome."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Yugi has gone trick-or-treating early, with Téa and her parents. This has permitted Natsumi and Sugoroku to prepare for the evening party. They've done up the apartment above the Turtle with synthetic cobwebs, various plastic creepy-crawlies, and pretty much everything they have been able to pick up from the handful of Halloween-specific stores that started cropping up over the past couple of months.

Both are thinking of Seto's birthday party, and have decided, nearly independent of each other, that they're going to show Pegasus Crawford that _ingenuity _can make up for modest funds. This isn't so much a conscious thought as it is a manifestation of Sugoroku's competitive instinct, and Natsumi's tendency to go along with her father's schemes just to make sure that he doesn't hurt himself.

What they _are _conscious of, they banter about as they decorate.

". . . I don't think he realizes at all," Sugoroku is saying, as he sets up a side table with a small infinitude of miniature figurines: there's a vampire, six different werewolves, even a Black Magician. He also puts various zombies and ghouls, and the table eventually looks like a grand melee is being staged on some wooden battlefield.

"He's sharp," Natsumi says, flipping the lights on and off again, then grabbing a stepladder and positioning it under the ceiling fan. As she steps up, she adds, "But I think maybe you're right. The poor thing probably hasn't ever _had _a buddy his own age to play with. But he probably thinks Yugi's _different_."

"Well, now, it's not like Yugi's been _alone _all this time," Sugoroku says.

"Téa's a sweetheart, but their interests don't exactly _mesh_, a lot of the time. She's an athlete. She likes camping and soccer and dancing. Yugi . . . tries, but even you have to admit it gets _awkward_. Seto shares _his _interests. He doesn't just indulge Yugi because he's nice. He's nearly as obsessed with that game as _you _are."

Sugoroku points a finger at his daughter-in-law. "You watch your tongue, Missy. That game is the _future_. You wait and see."

"It's different," Natsumi says, "to come to something independently, then bond because it's something you share. Rather than . . . trying to make someone _see the light_. I love Téa like my own, but . . . Seto is the only friend Yugi hasn't had to _fight _for."

"Do you think he'll accept Yugi's invitation?" Sugoroku asks suddenly.

"I can't see why he wouldn't," Natsumi murmurs. "Considering Mister Crawford's apparently made it his mission in life to remind him what _fun _looks like, I'm not sure he has a real choice in the matter."

Sugoroku chuckles. "Fair enough."

They're silent for a moment.

"From what I hear . . ." Sugoroku says slowly, ". . . it's because of Pegasus Crawford that Seto even approached Yugi in the first place. Something about that wager he was talking about, first time I met him." He chuckles. "Surreal. I'm _still _kind of star-struck, when I think about that. Crawford's young, but . . . quite the designer, I must say. Quite the designer."

"You should ask him for an autograph," Natsumi says, as she shakes a lightbulb next to one ear. "I'm sure he'll be here tonight."

The phone rings, and Sugoroku picks it up. "Happy Halloween!" he declares. "You've reached the Mutou residence. Sugoroku speaking." He listens for a moment. "Oh?" More silence. "Aha. I see. Certainly! Yes, yes, absolutely. Mm-hm." The old man's eyes go wide, and he grins. "Oh-ho . . . _really_? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, definitely. I'll set it _all _up for you. I wouldn't miss _this _for the world."

He hangs up. Stares off into the distance.

"Care to fill me in, Dad?" Natsumi wonders.

"Speak of the devil," Sugoroku says. "That was Mister Crawford his own self."

"You look entirely too terrifying right now." Natsumi steps down, picks up the ladder, and eyes the man studiously. "What's he plotting?"

Sugoroku raises an eyebrow. "Something . . . special. Dust off your handbook, my dear. It looks like we're introducing the kids to a way of _life _tonight."

Natsumi stares for a moment, unsure, then Sugoroku gestures to his miniature battlefield, and her entire face brightens.

"_Oooooh _. . ."

She grins like a fool for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto and Mokuba Yagami step into the apartment above the Turtle gingerly, like they think a trap might be sprung if they aren't careful. Natsumi steps into the living room, takes one look at the pair of them, and _squeals_. "Oh, my _God_, that's so _precious_!" she all but shrieks, and laughs when Seto fidgets and turns away.

He's still dressed in his costume, because that's what is expected of him, but he's heard that reaction from so many different people today that he thinks he might just keel over and die. Right here. On the floor. He adjusts the eyepatch that's covering his left eye—he doesn't know why he's chosen to cover his _left _eye, but Pegasus Crawford does—and shifts his weight. He watches Mokuba rush across the room to greet Natsumi; the Mutou matriarch, in turn, hunkers down to receive him.

Seto is dressed in full pirate regalia: boots, breeches, a sash, thick gloves, a tunic, three plastic pistols across his chest, a plastic saber tucked into the sash at his left hip, and a tricorn hat—and, of course, the eyepatch. Seto remembers the sorts of costumes that his parents used to get him for Halloween. They were the ones that were sold in stores, with plastic masks and vague patterns on thin jumpsuits that were _supposed _to look like cartoon characters and superheroes, but ended up _actually_ looking like cheap pajamas.

Pegasus Crawford has no love for such costumes, apparently. He's driven Seto around every department store in Domino City, seemingly, in order to put together—piecemeal—the ensemble he is wearing.

Mokuba _is _wearing a store-bought costume, though. Primarily because a hand-crafted parrot suit would have taken too long to put together on such short notice. Where would they even _begin _to find the feathers, anyway?

Natsumi is laughing while Mokuba flaps his arms around and declares himself to be Captain Nii'tama's first mate. She looks at Seto. "Happy Halloween, Seto. Have you been enjoying yourself?"

Seto licks his lips nervously. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

He isn't sure if he's lying or not.

Natsumi looks at Mokuba, bright green and glowing with excitement, and looks back at Seto. "Would you mind if I got a picture of this? You're just too much. This is—_fantastic_."

Seto shrugs spasmodically. "I . . . I suppose."

"_Dad_!" Natsumi shouts. "_Get the camera_!"

It is at this point that Seto becomes conscious of something: Natsumi Mutou is a vampire. She's dressed in a black tuxedo, a high-collared cloak, and she has red streaks running from the corners of her mouth down her chin. Her dark red hair is slicked back. She's wearing white gloves, and there's a black cane leaning against one wall; its handle is shaped like a wolf's head.

Sugoroku steps into the room holding a disposable camera, which he hands to his daughter. _He _is dressed like a medieval nobleman. He looks similar to Seto, in fact, except he has a jerkin, red cape, and no hat. He has gold chains and trinkets hanging from every spare part of himself. It's probably not _real _gold. He spies the two boys and laughs. "_Excellent_!" he declares in a deep, resounding voice that somehow sounds louder than Seto remembers. "Oh, this is fantastic! Well done, boys, well done!"

Seto blushes. "It . . . it was Mister Crawford's idea," he says slowly, sheepishly.

"Details," Sugoroku mutters, waving dismissively. "Get a picture. I'm going to get Yugi and Téa. We need a group shot!"

"Come here, Mokie," Seto says, holding out an arm. Mokuba immediately returns to his brother's side, hanging on that arm like it's a lifeline. He bounces on the balls of his feet, giggling and making strange sounds in his throat that might be his version of whatever sounds a toddler thinks a parrot makes. Seto wonders if his little companion has any idea why he's even dressed like a bird, why it makes sense, given the getup Seto is in. He probably doesn't. All Mokuba knows is that a lot of people are paying attention to him today, and that tends to be enough for him.

It's hard for Seto to remain embarrassed and flustered when his brother is so obviously having the time of his life.

Yugi and Téa are brought in, probably from Yugi's bedroom, for pictures. Predictably, they too have plenty of words for the Yagami brothers' tandem costumes—or, at least, happy sounds and gesticulations. Téa puts her arms around Seto's and Yugi's shoulders, since she's tallest, and Mokuba sits in front of them all. It's hard to tell who is grinning harder: Mokuba or Yugi.

Or Sugoroku, actually.

"Come along, kids," Natsumi says, after a few minutes of random chitchat during which Yugi explains his trick-or-treating adventures, and Seto pries his own experiences, both from earlier in the day and from years past, out of his memory. He still isn't used to this, and only part of him understands that it isn't going to stop anytime soon. This is what having friends _means_.

"We've got something planned for the evening," Natsumi adds. "Well, actually, Mister Crawford has something planned for the evening. Come on, come on, into the kitchen with you."

The Mutous' kitchen isn't particularly large, but it's one of the bigger rooms in the house. A wide table dominates the middle of the room, and whatever is on top of it is covered by a thick, heavy cloth. There are chairs situated around the table, enough for each of them. Three on one side, length-wise, three on the other, and one at the far end. Natsumi slips over to the oven, where she's been preparing something.

"Sit down," she says. "He should be here soon."

"Mister Crawford is coming?" Yugi asks, excitedly.

". . . He said he was busy," Seto murmurs.

Natsumi smirks. "Busy preparing _this_. Just sit tight. You'll see."

Sugoroku is chuckling to himself. He rests one hand on something that's underneath the tablecloth. Then Natsumi calls him over, and they both start preparing snacks and drinks for everyone. Seto takes the seat nearest him, at one corner of the table. Mokuba immediately clambers into the chair next to him, and Yugi takes the other corner seat on that side.

Téa sits down on the middle chair on the other side. She makes cooing noises at Mokuba as the toddler smacks his hands on the table and babbles privately to himself. Seto smiles, pats his brother's head, and waits.

Not two minutes later, a boisterous voice proclaims its owner's presence.

"Welcome to the madhouse, children! I _do _hope you've enjoyed yourselves! Tell me . . . are you _ready_?"

Pegasus Crawford is dressed in a black cloak and cowl. But the image isn't quite that of the Grim Reaper, so much as a man straight out of whatever court Sugoroku is pretending to hail from. But where Sugoroku looks like a visiting merchant prince or something similar, Pegasus has the look of a mysterious drifter, a fortune teller from far off, come to tell the king his ultimate fate.

Mokuba cries out in excitement. He knows that Pegasus is important now, even if he doesn't quite understand why.

Seto smiles again. "Hello, Mister Crawford," he says.

Pegasus grins, and bows with a flourish. "Good evening, boys. So sorry to have left you, but I do hope our dear and gracious hosts have explained that I had . . . something special to cook up for this evening." He glances at Natsumi and Sugoroku for confirmation. They nod.

He approaches the table, a wide smile on his face. That smile makes him look younger than usual, such that he might just be another trick-or-treater approaching the Mutous' house for candy. He sits down at the far seat at the head of the table and flips the hood on his cowl. He says, "What do my fine lords and ladies know of role-playing games, if I may ask?"

Seto frowns. "I've played _Chrono Trigger_," he offers.

Téa shrugs. "I think I read a book that's set in a world made for games like that. Maybe?"

Yugi's face brightens. "Like Monster World?"

Pegasus holds up a finger. "Not quite. Think . . . a bit older than that."

"Oooh . . . the tabletop games that Monster World got based on?"

"There you go."

Yugi's excitement dwindles. "Not . . . much." He looks at the table in front of him, then his entire face transforms as it comes back. "Are we gonna _play_?!"

Pegasus pushes back his hood a bit, leans forward, and rests his chin on his interlaced hands. "Call it a tradition. An uncle of mine used to do just such a thing on Halloween, when I was little. I thought it appropriate to keep the tradition alive." He winks in the general direction of Seto and Mokuba. "Now that there are children looking to _me _for guidance."

Seto breaks eye contact and stares at the floor, but can't help the twitching of his lips into something like a smile.

"Oh!" Téa pipes up. "Are you going to _adopt _Seto and Mokuba, Mister Crawford?"

Yugi gasps.

Pegasus leans back, and doesn't speak. He is, however, still grinning.

"It's not . . . official, yet," Seto mumbles. "But . . . but he says . . . maybe . . . by Christmas . . ."

"That's so _cool_!" Yugi's eyes look ready to fall out of his head. "Then we can stay over, and play games and watch cartoons and stuff!" He frowns suddenly. "Y'know . . . 'cuz the Children's Home doesn't let us. Hey! You should come stay _here _sometime!"

Seto doesn't realize, at this moment, just how important it is that Yugi doesn't even factor in the fact that Pegasus Crawford is a millionaire. That, when he comes to sleep over, it'll probably be in a manor, or a penthouse. Seto hasn't even allowed himself to think that, because if he thinks about it too much, he won't ever be able to believe it's real.

Seto stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.

"What are you talking about?" Natsumi asks from her place at the kitchen counter. "He's staying over _tonight_."

Seto blinks. "Huh?"

Yugi blinks. "Huh?"

Mokuba slaps an open hand on the table. "Ha!"

"What Mister Crawford has planned will take a while. Probably you'll be up _way _past your bedtimes." She winks. "We talked to Mister Elliot earlier today. He gave the go-ahead. We'll set up a place for you and your brother to sleep. Dad, did you find the sleeping bags?"

"Did I find the sleeping ba—_of course _I found the sleeping bags!"

Natsumi gave her father a look.

Sugoroku shrugs. "I . . . did not find the sleeping bags."

He leaves the kitchen sheepishly. Yugi giggles.

"We should set up a fort in the living room!" Téa says. "We'll all sleep out there, and watch cartoons in the morning. Ooh! We should make popcorn! Can we have popcorn?"

"Of course," Natsumi says, chuckling.

Seto sits back in his seat, face unreadable for a moment.

Then, something lights in his eyes. "This . . . should be fun."

Pegasus leans forward. "Well, then! Now that _that's _settled . . . what say we begin?"

* * *

**4.**

* * *

"Um . . . I know I'm dressed like this, but . . . can I be the wizard?" Seto points to one of the character sheets Pegasus has set in front of them.

"Certainly," Pegasus says immediately. "A fan of magic, are you, my boy?"

"I just . . . I think . . . well, they have to study their magic, right? They go to magic schools, and use what they learn to change the world. Right?" Pegasus nods, gestures invitingly. "Well . . . _I _kind of do that. I think I should be able to, you know, role-play that. Since . . ."

Pegasus is still nodding. "Good. That's very good."

Yugi looks disappointed for all of four seconds. "Then I'll be the sorcerer!" he suddenly declares. He grins at Seto. "We can be partners! Sorcerers are, like, naturals. They have magic in their blood. So they don't know spells like wizards do. They just use the elements and make stuff happen that way."

Seto is looking at his sheet, a thoughtful frown on his face. "So . . . it would be like . . . making up for our weaknesses. I'm not as powerful as you are, but I have more control. So if we need to trick a dragon into thinking we have an army . . ."

"That would be you."

"But if we need to blow up a castle . . ."

"Me!"

The two boys grin at each other. They shake hands.

"What about you, my dear?" Pegasus asks Téa.

"I think . . ." She looks up at him. "That book I read had a lady who prayed to the moon. She could talk to animals and things. Is there a character like that?"

Pegasus lifts up one of the sheets. "That would be a druid."

Téa smiles, and takes the proffered documentation. "I'll be the druid!"

"Excellent," Pegasus says. "So . . . do we all understand how this works?"

"You'll tell us what's happening in the world," Yugi says.

"And we tell you what we want to do," Seto adds.

"And then we roll these funny dice, and you tell us what happens," is Téa's contribution. She lifts up a twenty-sided die from her set of seven, and rolls it around in her fingers.

Pegasus claps his hands together. "Excellent! Well done. So, then, what we'll be doing for a little while, is coming up with your characters."

"Aren't they right here?" Téa asks, lifting the sheet in her hands.

"The _numbers _are there," Pegasus concedes, "but nothing else. They don't even have _names _yet."

Seto eyes his own sheet with far more seriousness than might be considered appropriate. He starts whispering to Yugi. They spend a half-hour like this, with Pegasus slowly and carefully prompting his young players to come up with character concepts. Not just names and genders and appearances, but backgrounds. Motivations. Lineage. Fears and desires. Natsumi puts drinks and various snacks—including leftover Halloween candy—in front of the children as they discuss their ideas with Pegasus.

For his part, the president of Industrial Illusions is somehow more excited than his players, weaving pictures with his words and his gestures as they come to him with vague ideas. Before long, Sugoroku is done setting up in the front room, and comes wandering back into the kitchen to listen. He eyes Natsumi across the table, who smirks and winks at him.

"All right, then!" Pegasus calls out. "I do believe we are ready to begin!"

He reaches for the corners of the tablecloth, and _whisks _it off the table with the flourish of an illusionist on stage.

Atop the Mutou's kitchen table is a map. It depicts a medieval-style town, with a river running through it. There are shops, houses, a jail, farmland outside the town's limits, a town square with a statue in the middle. Sugoroku has populated the map with various miniature figures, some representing important people, and others—chess pawns—simply representing random townsfolk. At the end of the map closest to Pegasus, there is a cemetery next to a church, with a small cottage off to one side.

"This . . ." Pegasus says grandly, "is Ravengro." He winks at Sugoroku, who grins and takes a small bow. "It's a small, prosperous little farming town in the Immortal Principality of Ustalav."

"Princa-what, now?" Yugi asks.

"A kingdom ruled by a prince," Seto says quietly.

Pegasus points. "You have it, my boy." He clears his throat. "This is hard country, filled with harder people. Governed by religion and superstition." He sets a finger on the map, where the town's name is written in old-fashioned script. "Some towns are built around universities and colleges. Shops and other offerings are built up for . . . scholarly sorts." This time he winks at Seto. Seto smiles. "Others have famous festivals, and various artisans and craftsmen will come from all corners of the world to ply their wares. But Ravengro . . ."

Pegasus pauses, and flips up his hood.

"Ravengro's claim to fame is a prison."

Natsumi is leaning against the counter, listening. A sly little grin is on her face.

"A prison?" Seto asks, leaning forward on the table. "There's no prison here."

"Oh, it's not _in _the town." Pegasus points south, off the edge of the table. "Old Harrowstone was built on a hill, _overlooking _the town. You see, this town was built for the sake of the workers, the wardens, and their families. To keep everything running smoothly. But that was a long time ago. Some forty years ago, in fact. The prison hasn't been _active _for decades."

Seto rubs his chin. "Hmmm . . ."

"So!" Pegasus grips the table and leans forward; this seems to be his cue for everyone to pay attention. Everyone does. "As our adventuring party ventures toward the town's front gates, why don't we introduce ourselves?" He points to Seto first. "Who are you, my boy? What do you look like? How are you dressed? What . . . would other people notice about you?"

Seto frowns studiously. "I'm Crystus the Cold," he announces. "I'm a . . ." he looks down at his sheet. ". . . dragonborn. So I guess I look like a dragon that walks on two legs?" Pegasus nods. "I don't have wings, but I have a tail. I'm silver." The boy's eyes brighten as he pictures the character in his mind's eye. Pegasus is grinning. "I'm wearing robes, but they're . . . uniform robes. Like I got them from a school, instead of a store. They're black, with silver on the edges. I have a walking staff, and there's a fancy gold dagger on my belt that has jewels on the scabbard."

"Scabbard?" Téa asks.

"Sheath," Natsumi says. "What you carry a blade in, to make sure it doesn't cut you."

"Oh." She points to Seto's costume. "Like that?"

Seto lifts up the plastic sword he's carrying, along with its black plastic case. "Yes."

"Oh, okay."

Pegasus nods. "Very good." He gestures to Téa. "And you, my dear?"

"I'm Sylvana," Téa says. "I'm an elf! She's got robes, too, but they're white. She has a staff, too. Um . . . she's got green hair, with leaves in it like a crown, and her eyes are really dark blue." Téa smiles. "She's a druid. She has nature magic and stuff."

Pegasus nods. "Indeed." He glances at Yugi. "And what of you, Master Mutou?"

Yugi grins so hard that his eyes are almost closed. "They call me Four-Fingers McDermott!" he nearly shouts.

Pegasus raises an eyebrow, as Natsumi lets out a quiet snicker.

"My real name is Tim," Yugi admits. "I'm a halfling, but everybody calls me Four-Fingers 'cuz I lost my pinkies in an experiment. It . . . didn't go so good." He lifts up his hands, having folded his pinkies down against his palms. "I don't like to talk about it. I met Crystus a long time ago, when we were still in school! He, um . . . always got better grades than me. I'm a sorcerer, but I didn't know that at first. So I just figured I sucked at everything. But then we started practicing, and I figured out how to work _my_ magic! I've got the same robes as Crystus, but they're all frayed and kinda dirty. Probably I've set them on fire a few times."

The two boys look at each other, then at Mokuba, who's sitting with his hands folded in his lap; the hood of his costume is down. He's listening, but he doesn't seem to understand. He seems more interested in the table, and the little game pieces on it. There's a grid of one-inch-by-one-inch squares all across the map, and each piece takes up a single square. Mokuba seems to like the squares. He traces their outlines with a little finger.

"We were exploring a cave once, after classes," Seto says, "and we found a bunch of goblins. They were forcing different animals to fight in a little pit they had, and we were pretty sure they were gambling. There was one goblin, bigger than the rest of them, and he had a little silver dragon that he liked to bet on."

"It was real small," Yugi puts in. "Probably just a baby."

"A hatchling," Natsumi offers.

"Yeah, hatchling," Yugi agrees. So Crystus and me—"

"I," Seto, Natsumi, and Téa all say at once.

"—decided we didn't like that." Yugi sticks his tongue out at Seto and Téa both; not at his mother. "We used the spells we'd been practicing, and we saved the little dragon from the goblins and brought him home with us. He's been following us on our adventures ever since."

"His name is Steel," Seto says, and here he ruffles his brother's hair. He gives Mokuba a one-armed hug. Mokuba looks up at him and grins.

Pegasus produces a tiny silver dragon figurine, along with a three-by-five index card. He places them in front of Mokuba, which immediately draws his attention back to the table. "I'm sure you'll be able to help him with the math," he says, to which Seto offers a sardonic sort of smirk. Pegasus chuckles. "I thought so."

"Awww . . ." Téa says, grinning. "Mokuba's a baby dragon!"

"Bay-bee _dragon_," Mokuba says, taking hold of the little figurine and rolling it around in his little hands. He looks up at his brother again. "This me?" he asks. "I play?"

"Yes, Mokie," Seto says. "You get to play, too."

Mokuba laughs, and thrusts his little dragon into the air. "Bay-bee dragon!"

"Your name is Steel."

"Stee-_yul_."

Seto kisses the top of his brother's head. "That's right, Mokie. Good job."

"You four have come to Ravengro to meet with a man named Petros," Pegasus announces. "He's a professor, and he teaches magic at a university nearby. He's looking for sharp, talented young people to help him figure out something that's been happening in Ravengro. There have been rumors of _ghosts_, and giant _wolves_, roving the countryside. Stealing livestock and vandalizing people's homes. Nobody seems to understand what's going on, and there aren't many people who even believe that anything is going on at all. They just figure it's a bunch of children causing mischief, or wild animals sneaking into the farms at night."

"We'll be able to tell if anyone is using magic!" Yugi declares.

"And if it _is _animals," Téa says, "then I can help with that."

"Exactly." Pegasus smiles. "There's just one major problem. Ravengro is no fan of strangers. You're outlanders. It's going to take some time for the people to trust you to do _anything_. So that's the goal of our game tonight. You'll need to get a feel for Ravengro, see if there's any work that needs doing, anything that might help the people here to trust you."

Pegasus hands each of the children a figurine to represent their character, and asks them how they approach the town.

"I'm watching to make sure no one is going to do anything to Steel," Seto says with conviction.

"That would require a Perception check," Pegasus announces, "followed by an Insight check."

Seto rolls a twenty-sided die. "Fifteen," he says instantly.

"A few people have noticed your entrance, and more than a couple have taken notice of your draconian compatriot."

Seto rolls the die again. "Eleven."

"No one seems inclined to . . . bother him, as far as you can tell," Pegasus says, smirking. "Honestly, they seem frightened of him. And of you. Dragons are rare in this region. Dragons that walk on two legs . . . even rarer."

"I wonder if I could _ride _Steel," Yugi muses quietly. At Seto's murderous look, he says, "I'm tiny! I'm, like, two feet tall!"

"What do you say, Mokuba?" Pegasus asks. "Would you like to give your friend a lift?"

"'Kay."

Seto settles back in his chair. With permission thus given, he seems offended no longer. Part of him seems to have forgotten, already, that his brother _isn't _a dragon hatchling.

"Normally, this would probably require an Animal Handling check," Pegasus says, rubbing his chin, "but since it's between players, I'll allow it. All right. So Crystus, Steel, and Four-Fingers are entering together, through the front gates." He gestures to Téa.

"What's the area all around the town like?" Téa asks. "You said there were farms?"

"Yes," Pegasus says. "The people here sustain themselves by growing their own food. Other than crops, there are open fields all around the area, sweeping across the landscape like waves. The only thing that draws the eye is the old prison. Broken down, like it wants to be ignored. But it can't be. Everyone who lives in the shadow of Harrowstone cannot be allowed to forget it."

Téa frowns. "Hmmm . . . I'll come in with them, but I want to keep an eye out for, like, animal tracks."

"Perception check," Pegasus says, "then a Nature check."

And so it goes for another twenty minutes, as the kids go through the town, interacting with non-player characters, trying to pin down the mystery of Ravengro's seemingly unexplainable vandalism, learning how this game works. They quickly realize that no one is willing to listen to them, not only because they are young, and not only because they are outsiders, but because they are affiliated—even tangentially—to Professor Petros Lorrimor. He is apparently the collective black sheep of the town.

"However . . . it eventually comes to light . . . that two prominent citizens not only listen to you," Pegasus announces after a lull in the action, "but are willing to help you unravel the mystery. In fact, they find you outside Petros's home to introduce themselves to you."

Pegasus waits, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

Sugoroku sits down at Téa's left. "They call me Orvil Rockbreaker," he says in a gruff growl of a voice as he picks up one of the character sheets. "Local smith, I am. You got metal, I got fire. I'll make anything you young'uns might need, and half o' what you wouldn't possibly _want _in a dog's age." He winks. "Fair shakes with an axe, too, lemme tell you."

Seto blinks. Stares. ". . . You're playing, too, Mister Mutou?"

"Of course!" Sugoroku laughs. "I've been playing at tables just like this one since college! That's so far back that you weren't even born."

Yugi's face is a picture in sly amusement. He says nothing. He seems to be waiting for something.

Then Natsumi sits down at Téa's right, leans back in her chair, and props her feet up on a corner of the table. "Call me Harlow," she says in an offhand, dismissive sort of voice. "Captain of the Watch. Most of these people are brainless livestock. Couldn't track a rat in a traveler's trunk." She grabs the last character sheet and looks at it. "Took I don't know how many years to get them to shove their _misgivings _down their throats about _me_. Not inclined to waste much time waiting for you to _prove _yourselves."

Yugi's smirk is wide, shark-like. He glances at Seto with a smug sort of superiority that looks entirely foreign on him.

Seto pauses a moment to put his eyes back into his head.

He's unable to find words for ten minutes.

After this period of silence, however, he doesn't stop grinning for two full hours, as he rolls dice with his friend's family—and his own—and weaves fantastic pictures in his head. When, at the end of the night, Pegasus reveals that the party's first boss fight is against a magically-animated monster made of paper, with folded fangs and ink-pots for eyes, the young genius actually claps his hands together and _giggles_.

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**Dungeons &amp; Dragons is a common thread in a lot of my Yu-Gi-Oh! work. It's hard to specify why, other than the fact that I'm a big fan of the game. I run two campaigns and play in two others. Though only two of those are in any way regular.**_

_**Anyway, point being, I'm a big advocate for tabletop role-playing, and once the idea struck me to put it into this story for the Halloween chapter, it wouldn't leave. The first game I ever ran (in Pegasus's role as Dungeon Master) was a Halloween adventure.**_

_**The adventure that Pegasus is running for the gang is actually adapted from a Pathfinder adventure path, published as "Carrion Crown." Specifically, the town of Ravengro and Harrowstone Prison are from the first chapter of that adventure path, "The Haunting of Harrowstone," written by Michael Kortes and distributed by Paizo Publishing.**_

_**It's a fantastic adventure, I've loved running it, and I think it might become a running theme throughout the rest of the story.**_

_**Also, something to note. Although this story takes place in the 90's (at the moment, anyway), the specific version of the game that the group is playing is the most recent, 5**__**th**__** Edition of Dungeons &amp; Dragons, which only came about a year or so ago.**_

_**I know this doesn't make sense, time-wise, but I beg that this be permitted, just because I've never played the edition of D&amp;D that would have been available in the 90's. We'll just say that it's a modified version of Monster World, which is the RPG/board-game hybrid that Ryou plays with the gang in the final leg of the original Yu-Gi-Oh! manga.**_


	20. A Willing Heart

_**The 20**__**th**__** chapter. Feels kind of momentous, doesn't it? It does to me. And part of me thinks that there should be something big, and exciting, and explosive to mark the occasion.**_

_**But I realized something.**_

_**Just because something's quiet doesn't mean it won't echo.**_

_**These three scenes will echo in my memory for a long, long time.**_

_**Here's hoping they resonate with you, too.**_

_**Let us begin.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Seto wakes up before the sun has finished rising on the morning after Halloween; and for a moment, he doesn't remember where he is. He's lying on the floor of the Mutous' living room, half-in and half-out of a sleeping bag, in front of the television. The screen still displays, in florescent clarity, the save menu for _Super Mario RPG_.

Yugi, still with a controller in his lap, is flopped on one side of the couch behind Seto. Téa, by contrast, is sleeping like a civilized human being, still _fully_ in her sleeping bag, on her back, hair fanned out on the pillow tucked beneath her head. Mokuba is curled up in a little ball against his brother's side. They're all sleeping peacefully.

Seto yawns as he sits up, and realizes that he can hear something in another room. People are talking. Seto stumbles to his feet, stretches, and smiles down at Mokuba. He leans down and ruffles the younger boy's hair, rests the back of a hand against his cheek for a moment, then turns back toward the kitchen. With a jolt, he turns back and turns off the television and Yugi's Super Nintendo.

_Then _he heads back toward the kitchen.

Pegasus Crawford sits in one of the chairs, dressed in slacks and an undershirt, and he's wearing his black robe from the night before like a bathrobe. His hair isn't nearly as neat and straight as it usually is, and he looks tired beyond all human recognition.

He has the Mutous' phone in his lap, with the handset cradled against one shoulder. Whomever is on the other line, they seem to be irritating him. He's waiting in pensive silence, his lips pursed. He speaks, finally, in a sharp whisper: "As I was _trying _to say before you interrupted me, I've _done_ the research. I've spoken to six different social workers in four different settings. Until the adoption is finalized, they aren't allowed out of the county. _Fiona_. Do you honestly think I'm lying to make you angry? I'm _not_ being flippant. This is a _government mandate_."

Pegasus lets out an annoyed groan. "Perhaps I should rephrase myself. I am _going _to find a new home in Domino proper. Whether or not you join me at that new home is, of course, your decision. I'd not force you into a contract. But this is _going _to happen. So arguing about that won't fix or change anything."

Seto leans against the doorframe. He wonders how long Pegasus has been on the phone, and whether or not he's slept.

"My job is not to live up to my father's expectations of fiscal responsibility," Pegasus is saying now. "My job is not to squirrel away enough capital to win an award, or whatever it is you're trying to convince me to do. My job is to provide two children with a home. I will not do that while simultaneously breaking the law _and_ forcing them to abandon their city. I will not have these boys choosing between me and the friends they've only just managed to make. They've been forced into too many compromises already. It's high time someone accommodated _them_."

Pegasus closes his visible eye—Seto unwittingly believes that he is closing both—and clenches his teeth. His jaw is set, and he looks ready to flip the table over and throw the telephone through the wall. "If that's honestly what you think your job is, then you're fired. If I see you in my home by the time I come back, then I will assume that you have _reconsidered _your position on my staff. Do you work for me? Or do you work for my father? The last time I checked, _he _doesn't pay your salary."

He hangs up the phone and stands up to return the device to its place on the counter behind him. "Good morning, Seto," he says. "I do apologize for that . . . display. I believe I have mentioned before that certain people in my employ have . . . questioned my decision to pursue parenthood at my age."

"Where do you live?" Seto asks.

"San Francisco, currently. That is . . . what I was just discussing."

"You . . . come from _that _far . . . just to . . . see us?"

"Domino City is an important place," Pegasus says cryptically. "It's inspired me in so many different ways. I can't count them all. When I decided to follow through with my plans, I could think of no better place to come than here. And just look at what I have to show for that." He smiles, finally looking directly at his companion. "I met the two of you."

Seto scratches the back of his left leg with his right foot as he stares at the floor.

Pegasus twitches before Seto hears anything, but it's a near thing. It starts with an inarticulate mumble, then a soft little whimper. Then Mokuba is crying, and Seto has _vaulted _back into the living room. He moves so quickly, in fact, that he doesn't see the heartbroken look that crosses Pegasus's face for a flash of a moment.

"You've been tending to him so religiously that your muscles act before your brain can catch up." The young man with the golden eye adjusts his robe. "It's so innate that you don't—you don't even . . ." The rest of the sentence is cut off in an exhalation of breath that almost sounds like a sob.

Pegasus remembers someone else who loved so deeply that it was instinct.

And Pegasus remembers what happened to that person, and feels a sudden, seizing terror so absolute that his legs shake and he almost loses his feet, and he has to rush into the living room after Seto just to _see _him again, because that's the only way Pegasus knows that Seto is still real.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Seto Yagami no longer recalls Pegasus Crawford's existence.

"It's okay, Mokie. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm right here." He holds the crying toddler close to himself, stroking back his mass of black hair. "You're safe. Niisama's here. Niisama's got you." He starts to hum wordlessly, almost tunelessly. "There you go. _There _you go . . . shhh . . . shhh-sh-sh-sh-sh . . . that's my boy."

Yugi flinches, but remains asleep. Téa doesn't even move.

Pegasus sits down on one side of the couch, opposite Yugi. "This happens a lot . . . doesn't it, Seto?" The boy flinches; he's literally forgotten that someone else is even in the house. He probably doesn't even know his friends are here. "He's so bubbly so much of the time. It can be hard to recall that he has just as much cause to cry as you do."

"It's not like that," Seto says shortly. "He just forgot where he was." The boy rests one cheek against the top of his brother's head and rocks him back and forth. "He's never . . . woken up without me. He got scared."

Pegasus flinches. "Never? Not even _once_."

Seto's face stern and unwavering. "No."

Pegasus leans forward, dangles his hands between his knees. He puts a thoughtful look on his face for a moment, then scoots down to sit on the floor. He pats the space beside him, and Seto only hesitates for a moment before standing—with Mokuba still in his arms, like he's always been there—and moving over to sit next to the man who's chosen to be his guardian.

"You . . . are _very _special." Pegasus puts an arm around Seto's shoulders. Seto glances at the man, then seems to fold in upon himself, cradling his brother. "It _should _be a universal truth: parents care for, support, and raise their children. But you know better than most that what _should _be . . . is not always what _is_."

"Sure," Seto mumbles quietly, smiling when he sees that Mokuba has slipped back into sleep. "Life isn't fair. The world doesn't care."

Pegasus squeezes Seto's shoulder and offers a one-armed hug. "But not . . . for this little warrior," he says, pointing at Mokuba. "As far as he knows, the world is a wonderful place, bright and warm and lovely. Because _you_, my boy, have kept those darker, nastier truths away from him. That is, in no uncertain terms, _exactly _what a parent should do. You've allowed him to grow, _knowing_ that he will always be protected. You've taught him to trust, to love, to _thrive_."

Seto frowns. "He's my baby brother."

"Yes, he _is _your brother. But you aren't his." Seto gives Pegasus a searching look. "You're his father. His protector. His teacher. All rolled up into one. There are grown men, grown women, who can't do what you have done. I know that you think of it as just part of your responsibility, and I love you for that. But it's so much more. _You _are so much more. You're a little miracle. That's what you are."

Seto is unable to speak for two full minutes.

Then he whispers, under his breath: ". . . Mom used to call me her little miracle."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto leans against Pegasus Crawford, and when Pegasus adjusts his grip and holds Seto there, the silence that settles over them both feels like a blanket. Like a promise. Like something quiet, and gentle, but ironclad.

Like something _permanent_.

Like nothing will ever infringe upon the safety of two orphaned children again, because looming over that blanket, haunted by tragedy and driven by celestial arrogance, is one man's vow to the universe at large: _if anyone ever hurts these boys again, they will not live to see their next sunrise_.

". . . Mister Elliot keeps lying to me. Miss Hathaway, too."

The words come suddenly, like a thunderclap. Like pretty much anything Seto seems to say around Pegasus; it's like the man has a force-field radiating around himself that forces people to tell him the truth, no matter what their brain tells them they should say, or shouldn't.

"What about, Seto?" Pegasus prompts, and somehow Seto can _feel _that the man believes him.

"They tell me Mokie's fine, when I visit Yugi or stay late at school. They keep saying he—they tell me he behaves himself. But he doesn't. He cries and runs around and throws things."

"People like Kristine Hathaway and Dan Elliot don't lie without a reason," Pegasus says eventually. "What reason do you think they could have for this?"

". . . I guess . . . so I won't feel guilty. Leaving him alone."

"That would be my guess, as well."

"But . . . ! But it's my job to _teach _him! I have to . . . I have to . . . make sure . . . !"

Pegasus hugs the boy again. "You've taught him _plenty_. And if you want my personal opinion on the matter, Mokuba will have plenty of time to learn self-reliance and proper social etiquette when he _doesn't _live in an environment like the Domino Children's Home."

There is a pause. A break. Seto looks down at his brother and bites his lower lip. "It's important for kids to be on their best behavior," Seto says, "even when their mom and dad aren't there. How . . . how good a parent am I, really, if he's a . . . a brat when I'm not around?"

"Good enough to keep him happy, even though he's suffered. Good enough to protect him, even though he's beset on all sides by people who wouldn't think twice about kicking him into the gutter. Good enough that he feels _safe _with you."

"Good enough," Seto mutters bitterly.

"_Yes_," Pegasus whispers. "You have done all that you can. _Absolutely everything _that you could think to do, you have done. If the only thing that's been sacrificed to the lifestyle you have had to lead is that he acts out when his Niisama isn't around . . . I think we might count ourselves immeasurably lucky. Etiquette can be taught. Manners can be mended. But in these first few years . . . his health? His happiness? His ability to trust? To love? Those can't. You've prioritized what's necessary, and tossed aside the superfluous. Show me a parent who wouldn't do that, and I'll show you a horrific parent."

Seto hugs his brother, and stays leaning against Pegasus's side. He smiles for a moment. Then it's gone, and he says, "I guess . . . when we're adopted . . . I won't be his parent anymore, huh? _You _will."

"Certainly that would be expected," Pegasus murmurs, and Seto flinches. "But I would be a fool of the highest possible measure to think something like that would be easy, for either of you. Who am I? I am a novelty to him. The tall one with the shiny hair." Pegasus sighs, rubs Seto's shoulder. "If you wish to lay the mantle aside, to be his brother instead of his father for the first time in your life . . . I would never begrudge you that right. But if you would _stay _in the role that you have so _gloriously _performed up to now . . . I will not be the monster who rips that away from you."

Seto Yagami sits in silence.

Mokuba Yagami breathes softly in gentle repose.

Pegasus Crawford communes with them both.

Another sudden admission escapes Seto's lips, when he says: ". . . You told me you loved me."

"I did," Pegasus says; his voice is lower than a whisper, barely more than an afterthought. "That I did."

Seto returns to silence.

Then he returns to saying things he never thought he would say. Not out loud, anyway. Not with words. But he says them.

"I . . . I love you, too."


	21. Remember the Sabbath Day

_**It's been some time, hasn't it? All I can say is that last chapter marks the end of the first … season, so to speak, of "Kick a Hole in the Sky." The first movement, as I've taken to calling it.**_

_**This, therefore, marks the beginning of the second.**_

_**I have big plans for this one, but for now, I'm just kind of getting back into the swing of things. I've done a fair bit of hands-on research (so to speak) for this arc.**_

_**So stay tuned, as They™ are wont to say.**_

_**The wait will be worth it. Promise.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

By the time Natsumi and Sugoroku enter the living room to check on the general state of affairs, Seto and Pegasus are both asleep. Yugi and Téa are watching _Pokémon _on mute with closed captioning on. The reason they are so quiet—even though Yugi usually can't go four minutes into a cartoon before he starts talking to the screen like the characters are old friends he hasn't seen in months—becomes obvious when the two adults catch a glimpse of Mokuba.

He's sitting beside his guardians, arms and legs crossed, with a look of thunderous gravity on his little face. He spies the room's new arrivals, and puts his entire right hand up to his lips—because that makes it _more important _than just a finger—before returning to his silent vigil. He seems to know, instinctively, that neither Nii'tama nor Pay-_guh_-sis sleep all that well, and that to trespass on this moment would be an insult of the highest order.

_And he just won't suffer it_.

Sugoroku glances at his daughter. "You heard the young master," he whispers loftily, in an odd accent reminiscent of the one Pegasus used for so many hours the previous evening. He crooks a finger. "What say we make ourselves useful, then? I'm thinking . . . chocolate chip pancakes?"

Yugi _shoots _up to a standing position, bouncing on his feet in sudden excitement; it's like everything he's _wanted _to say since the morning started has begun to bubble up without his consent at the prospect of his favorite breakfast.

"Come along, then," Natsumi says softly. Apparently not softly enough, though, considering the look that Mokuba levels on her. She bows her head in something resembling an apology—_so sorry to disturb My Liege, so sorry, shall I take my leave_?—and backs out of the room without breaking eye contact.

Appeased again, Mokuba goes back to watching the television.

Sugoroku falls into a fit of suppressed giggling as soon as everyone has crossed the threshold from carpet to tile. Natsumi's smile is two parts amused, one part disapproving, one part patronizing. "Dad, I know what you're thinking," she says quietly. "You leave those children alone. _All three of them_."

"Three?" Yugi echoes.

"Honey, when you reach our age," Natsumi says, rolling her eyes, "anything under thirty is a child."

"Forty," Sugoroku mumbles.

Yugi scrunches up his nose, obviously confused, and looks at Téa for clarification. She doesn't provide it. Yugi waits a moment, then shrugs and ambles over to the refrigerator.

He's looking for bacon.

The ritual of cooking Sunday Breakfast™ in the Mutou home mostly involves Natsumi acting as a field general while Sugoroku and Yugi, and Téa more often than not, take said field. Natsumi takes on very particular projects in the process of a given meal, and largely leaves the more mundane actions—laying out strips of bacon on a baking sheet in preparation for the oven, mixing the pancake batter, setting various articles of torture in proper place on the kitchen counters—to lesser beings.

Everything is in full swing when Mokuba comes shuffling into the room.

Sugoroku, who happens to have free hands at the moment, smiles at the new arrival. "Hello, there, little one," he says; still in a low voice.

Mokuba looks unsure of himself. His big grey-violet eyes roam about the room, while he bites on the tip of one little finger and pouts around it. He seems to be asking, without actually asking, where everybody went. But he doesn't look particularly relieved to have _found _everybody. The way he's skirting around the threshold between living room and kitchen, he seems not to know whether or not he's allowed to come in.

Sugoroku squats down and presents his hands in a welcoming gesture. "Come along, Mokuba. Come over here." Mokuba blinks, abandons his finger, and smiles. He toddles across the tile floor and giggles when Sugoroku—"Gam-paw"—sweeps him up and walks back to the counter.

Natsumi ruffles Mokuba's hair. "Good morning, little one," she whispers. "What do you say to helping us make breakfast for Mister Pegasus and Niisama when they wake up, huh?" She brandishes a spatula. "We're making pancakes."

Mokuba squeaks; he uses nothing resembling words, but his affirmation is clear enough.

And so, while Yugi and Téa gather plates and forks and work out the proper egg-to-pancake ratio for each meal's recipient, Natsumi and Sugoroku help Mokuba cook. Sugoroku holds him up, while Natsumi hands him a spatula. She then wraps her hand around Mokuba's and helps him guide it into the proper movements to work culinary magic.

It isn't lost, even on Yugi, just _how_ excited he is.

Sugoroku and Natsumi share a glance, and in it they both realize—at the same time—that this is probably the first time Mokuba has been _included _in anything that wasn't specifically orchestrated by his brother.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

". . . But then, there _is _the fact that it was merely a test. Isaac wasn't _actually _sacrificed."

"Did Abraham know that? Did _Isaac _know that? No. Only God did. It doesn't matter what _actually _happened. The fact that Isaac got to live just makes everything worse. It wasn't actually necessary. God was just _toying _with them."

"A test of faith, my boy."

"Oh, _whatever_. When you strip away the _thou shalts _and the _I am the Lords_, all you get is a moody hypocrite playing with an ant farm."

"It would seem that God wanted to know whom Abraham loved more: Isaac, or the Lord."

"_And the answer should have been Isaac_."

Owing to his vantage point, Sugoroku Mutou can see the look on Pegasus Crawford's face. He couldn't have looked prouder of Seto Yagami if the boy had been painting a seascape. Pegasus ruffles Seto's hair.

"Agreed," Pegasus intones quietly, but firmly, and Seto blinks.

His indignant anger is gone, in favor of surprise. He looks up. "Huh?"

"I was merely playing . . . God's advocate, Seto," Pegasus says with a chuckle as he stands up. "I agree with you. Most fervently." Then he bows. "Apologies. It seems I have been caught toying with you. It seems I am _also _a moody hypocrite." He looks up loftily at the ceiling. "I do _not_, however, own an ant farm."

Seto stares for a while, then offers the ghost of a smile. "It's okay," he says. "You're not God."

Pegasus puts a hand to his heart. "Oh! How your words cut! I'm _not_?"

_This_ summons up a laugh.

Sugoroku Mutou marvels at the idea that one of the wealthiest people to ever frequent Domino City is discussing religion with one of the poorest, in _his own living room_. When Pegasus locks eyes with him, though, he simply chuckles and gives a nod.

Pegasus, for his part, inclines his head.

Mokuba comes running—inasmuch as his little legs _allow _him to run—into the room. Sugoroku picks him up and, with barely a shift in momentum, _vaults _the boy over the couch and directly onto his brother's back. Seto yelps, then laughs again as Mokuba scrambles into his lap.

"Hi, there, Mokie," Seto offers; as always, his voice is the quintessence of gentleness when he's addressing his brother. "Are you having fun?"

Mokuba nods, vigorously as always. "Make _food_," he announces. "Beck-fuss! Make beck-fuss!"

"You _did_?" Seto asks, all wonder and wide eyes. "And what did you make, Mokie?"

"Mere!" the toddler says, flopping onto the floor and standing up straight again, like he's a soldier giving orders to an underling. He gestures frantically. "Mere!"

Seto stands up, and follows his brother to the kitchen.

Mokuba calls out something that may or may not count as Pegasus's name.

Natsumi sits everyone down at the table. She smiles dotingly at Mokuba for a moment before ruffling his hair and gesturing to the plates in front of Pegasus and Seto. "Mokuba made those," she says, regarding the vaguely circular pancakes which seem to have more chocolate than cake in them.

Pegasus grins like a boy of twelve. "_Did _you, now?" he asks Mokuba, who nods again. "Well, now! What an honor that's been bestowed upon me!" He puts on a pensive face. "I do believe I will dispense with syrup this morning."

Natsumi laughs. Mokuba laughs with her, but doesn't seem to know, or care, why.

Seto looks like he wants to cry; he manages to smile, all the same.

"T-Thanks, Mokie. It looks great."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Pegasus is looking over a memo pad. He's been scribbling on it for half an hour, having had to take another phone call not long after breakfast started. He's looking serious, almost grim, and quirks an eyebrow at his notes. "Let's see. Hm . . . almost eleven. Well, _that _isn't going to work according to . . ." He trails off.

Seto has more chocolate on his face than he is apparently aware of, given the seriousness of his expression. "Is something . . . wrong?" he dares to ask.

"Hm?" Pegasus looks up, bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and says, "Oh. No, no, not at all. Simply a change of plans." He looks at Natsumi and Sugoroku. "Would it be completely out of line to ask that you give the boys a ride back home? I'd not want to interrupt a holiday weekend so early, but it seems I have some time-sensitive business to which I must attend."

"Of course," Natsumi says. "Not a problem at all. Nothing catastrophic, I hope?"

"Not at all." He sits back down at the table, and begins eating the meal he had to abandon earlier. He holds his fork and knife like surgical instruments, and Seto in particular looks surprised. "Hm? You look perplexed."

"Well . . . you said . . . I mean, I thought . . ."

Pegasus smiles. "Croquet will be here in about an hour. I'm not so busy that I would shirk out on a meal provided to me by someone else. Particularly if I'm a guest in their home." He leans over and ruffles Mokuba's hair. "Besides. _This _budding chef here is deserving of my _expert _opinion on pancakes. I'm quite the connoisseur, you know." He takes a bite, chews carefully, and inclines his head again. "My, my. The makings of a true artist. Yes, yes, _most _excellent."

Pegasus makes small talk in this vein all throughout the rest of his morning. When Croquet arrives—promptly at noon, as though anything else would _ever _be expected—he is neck-deep into a conversation on the logistics of various trap cards with Yugi and Seto, while Téa tries her hand at teaching Mokuba how to dance.

"Thank you," Croquet says quietly to Natsumi, who let him inside; the Turtle Game shop is closed on Sundays. "Are you ready, sir?"

Pegasus gathers up his plate, alongside the rest of the clutter on the table, and sets it in the sink. "Yes, yes," he says long-sufferingly. "Let us get this underway. Ah!" He reaches into a pocket and produces a deck of cards. "Master Mutou," he says to Yugi. "I will unfortunately be . . . indisposed for a while, I believe." He smirks at Seto. "Could you do me a favor?"

Yugi blinks. "Huh? S-Sure! What is it?" Pegasus hands the deck to Yugi, leans down, and whispers in his ear for a while. Yugi listens intently, then grins from ear to ear. "Ooooh. Okay! Yeah!" He starts looking over the cards.

Pegasus smiles. "Thank you." Then he looks over at Seto and Mokuba. He ruffles Mokuba's hair. "Thank _you_, Mokuba. Breakfast was delicious." He offers a wink to Sugoroku and Natsumi. They wink back.

He puts a hand on Seto's shoulder, squeezes, and reaches into another pocket. Only Croquet recognizes the tiny black book as the same Bible Pegasus had been reading on the day he and Seto first met. Seto looks confused when his guardian hands this article to him.

"In case you'd like to study further," Pegasus says. "After all, what's the phrase? Knowledge is power? It's best, I think, to _understand _even that which we don't _believe_."

Seto chews on this for a moment. Then he nods. "Okay," he says. "I'll read it."

"Very good." Pegasus considers something for a moment, then leans down and kisses the top of Seto's head. "Take care of yourself, my boy. I'll see you again as soon as I'm able."

"Bye-bye!" Mokuba calls out.

Pegasus offers a salute. "Farewell, little warrior. Look after your brother for me."

Similar goodbyes are offered to the Mutous, and then his demeanor shifts gears dramatically as he turns his attention to Croquet. "So," he says coolly, as he's heading into the living room, toward the stairs that will eventually lead him out of the building, "_what _is it that Gabrielli wants now?"

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**I do hope I've not caused offense with my bit of religious commentary in Scene 2. It's not meant as an attack, or even a criticism, of any kind. Merely my take on the characters' stances. I've gone on record before on why I believe Seto to be a rather vehement Atheist, and the sacrifice of Isaac is one of the more ... pivotal reasons for it.**_


	22. If the Sun Comes Up Tomorrow

_**Sometimes my general experiences flavor what I write. Which is to say that you can usually tell what I'm watching, reading, researching, or listening to, based on whatever cultural references I make. This chapter is something a little … trickier than that.**_

_**I had a plan for this installment that ended up … well, not happening. I was hit with a pretty hard cold for a few days, and the result was this.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Four days before his first official _Magic &amp; Wizards _tournament, Seto Yagami wakes up feeling like the end of the world is a physical presence, and it's taken up residence inside his ribcage. He can barely open his eyes in the morning, and even though some part of him knows that he has school today, the rest of him knows that he isn't going to be able to stand upright for at least another six hours.

At least.

Seto keeps a watch. He doesn't wear it, because too many kids comment on how old and ugly it is, but he always keeps it nearby. Usually, in a pocket. When he sleeps, he puts it on the small end table that he shares—fights over—with David Whittaker.

Seto checks the time. 7:27.

He's slept like the dead, straight through his alarm.

The panic that wants to well up in Seto's chest can't gain much traction, because his head is too fuzzy to figure out what he's trying to freak out over. Groaning, moving like he's underwater . . . no, not water. Something thicker, more viscous, like salty gelatin.

Then something stirs next to him, and Seto realizes that—in the absence of morning routine—Mokuba is still sleeping, curled up in a little ball right next to him. The panic surges through. "Mokie!" Seto hisses. "Mokuba, come on. Up you get, little one."

At least, this is what he _tries _to say. Seto barely manages a word or two before he descends into a hacking fit that threatens to dislodge at least four ribs.

Seto thinks, once he's sure that he hasn't coughed up any blood—it certainly feels like he should have: _I have to get Mokie out of here._ He isn't fully conscious why. He stumbles out of bed, nearly falls flat on his face, and somehow manages to gather up his brother in a bundle of pajamas, a pillow half-out of its case, and a bedsheet that he eventually tosses in frustration over one shoulder.

Mokuba fumbles around as Seto makes his laborious way across the room, blinks several times, and stares up at his brother with one visible eye. "Nii'tama?" he asks, clearly wondering why the bed is moving.

Then Seto starts coughing again, and Mokuba flails around for a while. Once the excitable little bundle of hair finds his feet, he puts on a stern face. "Nii'tama go bed," Mokuba declares sharply.

"M-Mokie . . . I—"

"_Nii'tama_?"

". . . Yes, baby brother."

"Go. _Bed_."

And Seto realizes he is in a bad way when he can't construct anything even close to an argument. He lets his three-year-old sibling guide him, and is unconscious again mere moments after lying down.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Ellie has a guitar.

For reasons that cannot be pinpointed—he tries, for at least an hour—this strikes Seto as alien. Absurd. Not that Ellie is holding a guitar. _That _makes sense. What _doesn't _make sense is how often the thought occurs to him as a singular concept. He feels like he's drowning, he has all morning, and certain facts are like driftwood left off from the shipwreck of his intellect.

The sun is a star.

Human beings have opposable thumbs.

Ellie has a guitar.

When first she saunters into the room with the instrument at her side like she's brandishing a weapon, he tries to ask . . . something. What time is it? Where did Mokie go? Why do you look embarrassed? Why can't I feel my face?

He isn't _able _to ask any of these questions, but he _thinks _them at her. As though she is supposed to pick up on them.

She doesn't.

Ellie sits down on David Whittaker's bed. She smiles, tilting her head to one side. "Hey, there, Yagami," she says. She sounds as flippantly casual as she always does . . . except not quite. There's something different about her tone. This is instinctual. If Seto were in any condition to analyze anything more complicated than how many fingers he has on his left hand, he might have figured out the answer to most of his queries without much thought at all.

But Seto hasn't been sick—well and truly _ill—_for some time now. Years, probably. And it feels as though the abstract concept of sickness is making up for that fact by barreling into him with all the subtlety of a space shuttle.

"H . . . H—"

That's all he can manage before coughing again. His entire body shakes.

Ellie flinches, and kind of _coos_, and sets her guitar down before stepping up to his bedside and looking down at him. "You really _are _down for the count today, aren'tcha, kiddo?"

"Nnnnnnnnnngh . . ."

A hand brushes against his forehead, and Seto closes his eyes.

Pretty soon, he hears music. Soft, strumming strings. And then singing. A voice, slightly scratchy, crooning a song that Seto feels like he's supposed to know. Maybe he's heard it before. Maybe it was one of Mom's favorite songs.

Mom doesn't listen to the music she listened to when she was little. She likes listening to music in English because it helps her stay fluent. That's important. And she likes _current _music. The first thing she does in the morning is turn on the radio in the kitchen, and the last thing she does at night is turn it off.

She says sometimes that she'd _like _it if she could find a station that played instrumental pieces. But since she can't, she settles for this. It's fun to sing along sometimes, and ever since she's come to this country her _personal _preference for violin concertos and atmospheric flutes has been buried by a deluge of sappy love poetry set to guitars.

Mom says she isn't sure she minds so much.

Someone asks, "What're you doing in here?"

Someone answers, "Gotta practice if this thing's gonna be worth anything. And I figure if Mister Crawford's gonna get me a _Gibson_, I oughtta make good on that."

"I'm pretty sure that isn't a real Gibson."

"Yeah, I know, but I keep tellin' people that's what it is, so clam up, huh?"

"And what about your choice of venue?"

"Hey, not like he's _going _anywhere. Kid's barely got the faculties to hack up his lungs."

"You're getting pretty good, Ellie. Keep it up."

"Man, _whatever_."

"Hm. Well, I suppose I'll leave you kids alone. Keep an eye on him. He likes you, y'know. I'm sure he appreciates that you're thinking of him."

". . . Shut up about it, already. I ain't goin' anywhere."

When the singing starts again, Seto has a handful of moments to be relieved before he falls under again. Only this time, he feels kind of . . . warm.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Pegasus Crawford never looks quite so much like a king as when he's thinking. He lounges in his chair like it's a throne, and he was _born _to it, by God. The fact that he's wearing a tailcoat, and that the vest underneath it is as crimson as the blood of the proverbially innocent, brings to mind a classic sort of gothic monster.

The smirk on his face only accentuates the comparison.

He's still wearing his hair in a ponytail.

He drinks wine from a glass that should be a goblet, and doesn't respond to Croquet's question until at least a minute has gone by. "What can I do for you, my good man?"

Croquet gestures with the device in his hand: a telephone handset. "A call for you, sir."

Pegasus's entire demeanor shifts, from vampire to goodly church chaplain. "Hello?" he asks in a lilting, public-servant sort of voice. His face crinkles with honest concern, which looks to Croquet like the grimmest, bitterest bit of comedy he's ever stepped into, considering . . . the rest.

Croquet closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "This job will be the death of me," he murmurs to himself.

"Shhhh . . . sh-sh-shhhh . . . _there_ we are. Now, now, little one. Everything will be fine. Slow down. What's the matter?"

He sounds _so earnest_, and Croquet has been affiliated with the Crawford family for more than long enough to know that _this _is Pegasus Crawford. The man is no sociopath. The soft, gentle artist is still living inside him, and one thing for which he will never be able to thank those Yagami boys enough is that they've brought it _out _in him again.

But a stark problem remains in the monster that sometimes settles over the artist's heart, like today, and leaks into his—

**_eye_**

—subconscious like a serpent in a forbidden garden. What is there to be done about _that_? What to do about the warbling sonata that whispers dark secrets into Pegasus's mind at night in the place of lullabies? What to do with the thing that wraps a murder weapon in a silk kerchief and sometimes honestly thinks that's enough to hide its true face?

What to do about the _creature _summoned by that man from Egypt? That man who might not be a man at all anymore? That man who hangs in a place of honor in the dining hall, next to the lost but not forgotten?

". . . Listen to me, Mokuba," Pegasus is saying now. "I'll be right there. Okay? No—Mokuba, your Niisama will be _just fine_. We'll take care of him, you and I. All right? Don't worry. I'll see you soon. Be strong, little warrior."

Pegasus hangs up the phone and rises smoothly to his feet. As he's adjusting his coat, he slips a manila folder off the table by his right hand and glances casually at Croquet. The meager lighting in the room makes his face look at once ghoulish and transcendent.

"It seems I must make a change of locale. Seto isn't feeling well, and Mokuba isn't taking it well." He smiles impishly. "The joys of parenthood. No?"

Croquet clears his throat. ". . . Indubitably. And, ah . . . what will happen to Mister Gabrielli, then?"

Pegasus turns his golden gaze upon his old mentor, slumped on the floor and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Abele Gabrielli's eyes are glazed over, like frosted glass. They see all . . . and yet they see nothing.

The master slips a _Magic &amp; Wizards _card into an inside pocket of his coat.

The devil's smirk returns, and he doesn't answer.

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**The song that Ellie is singing, in case anyone wonders, is "Let Her Cry" by Hootie &amp; the Blowfish. This will probably be a longstanding bit of symbolism with her. I don't necessarily see her becoming a professional musician or anything, but I think music defines her existence a lot of the time.**_

_**Hence why Pegasus got her a guitar for Seto's birthday.**_

_**Both Ellie and Dan seem convinced that the model isn't anything particular, nothing to write home about … but I'm pretty sure it's the single-most expensive thing she's ever owned.**_

_**Pegasus just kinda strikes me as that kind of rich guy.**_

_**Generous to a fault.**_

_**The fault being … he seems to do it in order to justify the, um, Other Things™ he does.**_


	23. Echoes of Yesterday

_**I did myself a disservice when I originally started working out this story. By which I mean, I sold the premise short. See, I originally thought that it would be interesting if Pegasus adopted Seto and Mokuba. And of course, this holds true.**_

_**But as you may have noticed by now, I'm kind of taking my sweet damn time with the whole operation. And trust me when I say that it's going to be a while yet before the official adoption goes through. I'm not going to bother holding out for suspense's sake.**_

_**The adoption WILL go through.**_

_**This story, though, feels like one of those exercises in "It's about the journey, not the destination." I could have easily gotten it into my head that the important part of giving my favorite fictional brothers a happy childhood came directly from having a different adoptive father, and rushed ahead to that part. Get through the red tape so the interesting stuff can start.**_

_**Suffice it to say, I'm glad I held off. I'm glad I stopped myself.**_

_**I hope that you are, too.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

It occurs to Pegasus rather suddenly that he has never—in all the time he's spent over the past handful of months frequenting this house of the lost and forgotten—seen Mokuba Yagami without his brother standing at his side. The image is incomplete. It's familiar, but only in that way that one's reflection in a funhouse mirror is familiar.

It's still wrong. Still . . . warped.

Seto, for all his vulnerabilities, is strong. It's almost romantic how well he can stand on his own, even though it's more than a little unsettling just how often he's been forced to do it.

But it's devastating just how _tiny _Mokuba looks right now, as he sniffles and bites on his finger and stares despondently at the floor. Pegasus steps into Dan Elliot's office, barely able to keep his feet as he takes in something new; something heavy, that hits him like a razor-sharp arrow, straight through something even deeper than his heart.

Pegasus remembers something he told the elder Yagami, on the first day they met. But when he remembers it, it isn't in his own voice and inflection, but Yuki Yagami's. She says, somewhere deep inside his memory:

**_I have always considered children to be people_**.

Has he done this? Has he held true to this simple belief, or did he use it to sneak into Seto's guarded but horrifically fragile heart? Has Pegasus thought of Mokuba Yagami as his own person, as someone with equal if not _more _need for love and attention and guidance than his brave, stoic sibling?

Or has he simply been an accessory? An afterthought?

Pegasus takes a knee, adjusting the satchel slung over his right shoulder, before he bothers to acknowledge Dan Elliot or Kristine Hathaway. When Mokuba finally glances over at the door, he rushes over and practically _vaults _into Pegasus's arms, crying out wordlessly, tugging at the man's jacket, trying desperately to convey something awful, for which he simply doesn't know the words.

It's equal parts ironic, pathetic, and outright laughable that Pegasus finds himself modeling his behavior after one of the children he has claimed as his own, as he strokes Mokuba's messy black hair and whispers to him—just like Seto might: "Now, now, it's all right. Everything will be all right." He stands, taking Mokuba with him, struck by how _light _he is, and finally makes eye contact with the other adults in the room. "There we are. Don't you worry."

Dan smiles. "Sorry about this," he says. "He's been completely inconsolable. It's nothing _serious_, but—"

"—We don't think he's ever seen Seto like this before," Kristine puts in, almost as though she and her compatriot are reading each other's thoughts. Pegasus grunts with something suspiciously like laughter.

They aren't reading each other's thoughts, per se, but they are _sharing _them.

"He's worried," Dan says.

"Mokuba's apparently of the opinion that medicine is supposed to cure him _now_," Kristine puts in. "So the fact that Seto's still in bed—"

"—And not noticeably improving just yet," Dan cuts in again.

Pegasus decides to step into this dance. ". . . Has him convinced that Niisama won't _ever _get better."

"Right," both Dan and Kristine say at the same time.

Pegasus draws in a steadying breath, adjusts how Mokuba is sitting against his side, how the satchel sits against the other, and leans down to plant a light kiss atop the shuddering child's head. Mokuba is still tugging listlessly at Pegasus's jacket. "You're scared for Niisama, aren't you?"

Mokuba nods miserably.

"Well. Here's what we're going to do." Pegasus settles down to the floor again, sets Mokuba down in front of him, and looks directly into the smaller Yagami's grey-violet eyes for the first time. Even downcast, wide and wet and frightened . . .

Pegasus draws in a sudden breath.

It isn't enough to say that Mokuba's eyes are _like _his mother's.

They _are _his mother's.

Pegasus forces himself to recover. "We're going t-to help him," he says, cursing the hesitancy in his voice. How is it he can rip souls asunder, doom his old friends to lives infinitely worse than death, with absolute impunity? Yet he's shaken up by a three-year-old?

As delusional as Pegasus Crawford has been about . . . certain aspects of his behavior lately, he is able to recognize the rather cruel irony here.

". . . Help Nii'tama?" Mokuba repeats. He bites down on his finger again; his middle finger, specifically. It seems to be this boy's answer to sucking on his thumb. "For really?"

Pegasus tries not to laugh. "For really. So I don't want you to worry, okay? No more worry." He puts both hands on Mokuba's shoulders. "You and me. We'll make sure he gets what he needs. And he'll be better _very _soon. Okay? Can you help me?"

Mokuba nods. ". . . 'Kay."

"That's the ticket." Pegasus pats Mokuba's head. He stands up again. "If I may ask . . . how _is _he?" He glances down. "You'll forgive me, I trust, but the information I received over the phone was . . . somewhat difficult to decipher."

"It's just a cold," Dan says. "Nothing serious. But it looks like it might take a couple days to knock this one out. We've moved his roommates to another space for now. So far, Ellie's the only one who insists on keeping an eye on him. The others have kept well clear."

Pegasus smirks. "Seems Miss McAllister might just be a touch more . . . attached than she'd like to think." He turns to leave. "Ah . . . by the way. Would it be at all possible for me to make use of your kitchen today?"

". . . I suppose we could allow that. Why?"

"Simply something of a tradition," Pegasus says. "My mother has always insisted that, while soup is the only _true _cure for the soul when one is sick, _canned _soup is poison and will only elongate the recovery process."

"So you want to make Seto some homemade, then."

"Seems only proper, doesn't it? After all . . . even if I don't become these boys' _legal _guardian," here Pegasus reaches down and pats Mokuba's head again, "have I not already enlisted myself in the role?"

Dan and Kristine give each other sidelong looks.

Kristine says, "Your dedication is . . . admirable, Mister Crawford. By which I mean, if more prospective parents treated the adoption process like you, I'm pretty sure we would shut down for lack of clients, since there'd no longer _be _any orphans in the city."

"Sure you don't want to take on a few more?" Dan quips.

Pegasus takes hold of Mokuba's hand—so _tiny_—and smirks over his shoulder.

"My hands are a bit full at the moment."

Kristine frowns. "Part of me worried that they'd end up a lost case. That they'd stay here until . . . well. Just . . . thank you."

Pegasus chuckles. He thinks of Abele Gabrielli and Gregor Kelvin when he says:

"Simply my way of . . . giving back to my community."

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Ellie is sitting outside the room that Seto and Mokuba share with David Whittaker and Glen Hersh, plucking out random notes on the guitar propped against her knee, with an odd look on her face. It's like she's trying to meditate, but hasn't quite figured out the trick behind it, so she's just kind of staring off into nowhere with manufactured understanding plastered all over herself. Like pretentious armor.

It makes her look mildly ill, herself.

Ellie notices Pegasus approaching, smirks, and stands up. She grips the neck of her instrument and holds it like a walking stick, fingers dancing across the fretboard. "Yo," she offers, with a little salute. "Should'a figured you'd be showin' up."

"Good afternoon, Miss McAllister," Pegasus replies with a smirk of his own. "How goes practice?"

"Nyeh," Ellie says dismissively. "Let's say I'm not gonna be playin' Radio City or whatever any time soon." She waits a beat. ". . . You're gonna be takin' 'em at some point, right?" She gestures to Mokuba, who's standing behind Pegasus's leg like he expects his brother's sickness to gain sentience and come barreling out of the room like a wild bull. "I mean, no use pretending, is there?"

She sounds dejected.

"That _is _the plan," Pegasus says. "Red tape and all, but . . . yes. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that upsets you more than you thought it would. Or _should_."

"Tch." Ellie rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I mean, hey, talk about hittin' the lottery, right? Ain't often a guy like you rolls around 'n picks one of _us_. Much less _two_. S'good. S' a good thing." She eyes Pegasus warily. "He really likes you."

Pegasus bows his head, as though he's been given sensitive information that must be held in strictest confidence.

_He _waits a beat.

"Do you know . . . ?" He trails off, rubs at his chin. Manufactures a tone of voice that denotes hesitance. "Perhaps not yet. Best not to count any chickens. But . . . all the same . . ." Ellie is watching him with more than passing interest. Just as irritation starts setting in, Pegasus starts to talk again. "You see, there's a bit of a problem I've been wrestling with. I've been doing all that I can to accommodate Seto and Mokuba. But . . . assuming they _do _come to live with me . . . well. I mean, things will be different. There's only so many vacation days I can take, after all. I may be the president of Industrial Illusions, but if I neglect my work _too _much, that won't be true for much longer."

Ellie's face screws up. "What're you gettin' at?"

"Well. It's just that, I want these boys to have a home. But I also don't want them to be _at _home, all alone, whenever I have pressing business."

"Ain't you got servants or whatever?"

"I've a house staff, yes," Pegasus admits, just sheepishly enough that Ellie doesn't start feeling defensive or offended at a flaunting of affluence, "but . . . I think it would be best if I were to hire someone specifically for the task of looking after them. On those occasions when it isn't possible for me to be home. Brief intervals taken one at a time. I'll make quite sure of that. But . . . I think the _frequency _will make up for that."

"Uh-huh . . . ?" Ellie looks confused, and she starts twirling her guitar impatiently.

"I think things would be much smoother if I were to find someone they knew," Pegasus says, slowly. Invitingly. "Someone with whom they're already . . . comfortable. I think it would make the transition more palatable."

He leaves the discussion here, and lets Mokuba lead him to Seto.

Ellie looks confused as they pass her, then does a double-take.

She pops her head into the room. "Are you sayin' you want me to _babysit_?"

Pegasus pulls a stool from one far corner of the room, up to Seto's bed. As he sits, he winks at the girl in the doorway. "I can assure you," he says, "I can make it worth your time."

". . . Wait. You're gonna . . . pay me?"

"Of course! I'd not have you work for me and not _compensate _you. What barbaric society do you think we live in?" A moment. "On second thought, don't answer that."

Ellie's face takes on a fierce caste. ". . . Why?" she asks sharply.

Pegasus shrugs. "How did you put it?" he asks. "He . . . really likes you."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto wakes, in a manner of speaking, just as Ellie is working up to say _something _in response to this absurdity. Just what she intends to say, even she doesn't know. But she clamps her mouth shut when she hears Seto murmur something. Mokuba, who is standing in the doorway next to Ellie, is dancing around and mumbling quietly to himself. He seems to think that he isn't allowed to cross the threshold into the room.

Pegasus starts to speak, then stops himself. Reminds himself of doctor visits as a child, and how much it used to confuse him how nurses and doctors both could paint plastic smiles on their faces and pretend everything was sunshine and lollipops when he was _suffering_.

This is no place for manufactured cheerfulness.

Something subtle shifts onto Pegasus's face:

Honesty.

He shifts his weight. Leans forward, turns his head to face Seto. "Quite the exhausting day, I take it."

"Mmgh," Seto replies, shielding his eyes with one arm.

Pegasus clears his throat. "The thing is . . . you've a tournament in a few days. Your first. I'm sure you don't want to miss it." Seto looks over. His face goes through a handful of expressions, each more irritated than the last. "So, we have to make sure you recover in record time." Pegasus holds up a finger. "I'm going to let you in on a very special Crawford family secret."

Seto lowers his arm and blinks several times. Curiosity sets in, pushing aside fatigue for a moment.

"Toiréasa Crawford's patented vegetable soup," Pegasus says with a grin that betrays just how young he is. But even though it's the same grin he uses all the time, there's something different about it. Even Pegasus himself can _feel _something different. "Trust me. You'll be better in no time at all."

"Tor . . . ay . . ." Ellie starts mumbling. "Twa . . . ra—oh, _come on_, that name can't be real!"

Pegasus laughs. "It's Irish, my dear." He glances back at Seto. "How does that sound to you? Hm?" Seto starts to say something, then starts coughing. Once the fit passes, he moans piteously and nods. Pegasus reaches over and rubs Seto's back a moment before letting the boy fall back against his pillows. "Very good. Everything I'll need to conjure up your remedy will be arriving shortly. In the meantime . . . may I ask you a personal question?"

Seto nods again. He glances at Ellie for a moment as he does, then back to Pegasus. Even though he says nothing, it's universally understood that he's endorsed her presence. From the stunned look on Ellie's face, she seems to understand the gravity of this silent gesture.

Pegasus catalogues all the information that he isn't supposed to know yet, and settles on one of the more pertinent topics. He says, "You were . . . quite close to your mother. Weren't you?"

The lightning bolt that shoots through Seto's body is almost visible.

His blue eyes go _savage _for a moment, all sickness forgotten, and he looks like he might just throw himself out of bed, out of the building, out of the _state_. Then he seems to remember a handful of things: one, he's already been warned that the question would be personal; two, he doesn't have the energy to move much at all, much less quickly, even _less _angrily.

Three, he isn't talking to a stranger.

". . . Yes."

It's the first word Seto has voiced, clearly, in hours. Chances are, this means he finds the question _too _important to remain silent for the answer. Pegasus nods, closes his eyes for a moment, then says, "You haven't been ill like this in some time, I think," to himself. "Tell me. Did she . . . have any particular traditions, for sick days like this?"

Seto mulls this over. He looks at once sad, angry, offended, touched, betrayed, and relieved. How so many emotions could flit across a face that small, all at once, is a mystery for the ages. Pegasus doesn't think he'll be able to fully unravel the enigma of Seto's thoughts and feelings even if he devotes the rest of his life to doing it.

Which, he reminds himself, he fully intends to do.

Ellie steps into the room and sits down at the edge of David Whittaker's bed. She gestures, and Mokuba comes shuffling in beside her. She ruffles the toddler's hair, a touch more roughly than his brother tends to do it. "Mama's boy, huh?" she asks. "Explains a lot." Seto's face screws up, and she laughs a little. "Don't gimme that. You know I'm right. Y'ain't awake enough to argue, anyway."

Seto closes his eyes again. He mumbles something.

"I'm sorry, my boy," Pegasus says gently. "Could you repeat that?"

"She . . . she used to read. To me."

The grin comes back. "Is _that _right?"

"Uh-huh."

Pegasus taps the satchel he still has slung over his shoulder with the side of one hand. "Seto, would you mind too much if I . . . kept that tradition alive? I know that you've been trying to put your past behind you. And trust me when I say I have no intention of ever trying to _replace _what you've lost. But . . . do you know? I've learned something over the past handful of years. Forgetting our history, even if the remembering hurts . . . seems to do more harm than good."

Seto blinks, very slowly. He looks unsure of himself. Confused.

Pegasus produces a thin, hardcover book. "What do you say?"

It takes a while, but Seto eventually nods.

Pegasus settles the book on his lap, opens it, then frowns. He glances over.

Crooks a finger.

"Come along, now, little warrior," he says. "We're going to tell your Niisama a story."

Mokuba's little face perks up. "Story?"

"That's right."

The boy makes his way over, climbs up into Pegasus's lap, and stares at the book in Pegasus's hands as though he intends to parse its secrets all on his own. Mokuba sends a bright little grin his brother's way; Seto manages a weak smile in return.

Pegasus looks at Ellie and winks. "And you can play the part of the audience, if you are so inclined."

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

She doesn't get up to leave.

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**The name I've given Pegasus's mother is simply the Irish rendition of Teresa / Theresa. That's basically it. I think it means Summer?**_

_**And from what I can tell, it's pronounced "Tor-AY-sha."**_

_**You'll meet her soon.**_


	24. Quiet Moments

_**It is now officially 2016. I'm not sure if I fall in line with those who view the new year as a new beginning, a chance to restart, refresh, or what have you. But nonetheless, there's something about the whole enterprise of renewal that appeals to me.**_

_**This story certainly seems to encompass just that sort of thing for me.**_

_**I've been building ideas, theories, headcanons, whatever you like to call them, for Seto and Mokuba both for going on two decades, and somehow all of them are coalescing into a singular thing . . . right here.**_

_**Odd, isn't it? By turning canon on its head, I seem to have stumbled across certain truths.**_

_**Maybe that's the point of AU stories in the first place.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"There's one thing I still don't get," Ellie says. She's leaning forward, and has come close to actually resting her chin on Yugi's head; Yugi is seated on the floor in front of David Whittaker's bed. Over the course of the past few hours, the audience for Pegasus's dramatic reading has grown to include not just Yugi, but Sugoroku and several of Seto's fellow orphanage residents.

"What's that, my dear?" Pegasus asks.

"Well," Ellie spreads out her hands like she's giving a presentation, "if they got all this fancy magic and whatever, why're they just handing these random wands to kids like, 'here, take this stick that makes shit explode and wave it around a bit. Oh, don't worry. My store won't catch fire.' Like, what if Harry had _shit_ for aim?" She flinches when she realizes that Mokuba is looking at her, all wide-eyed and impressionable. "What if he hit a bunch of other wands and they all went off? Like when a gun overheats? And then you'd have all this random magic flying all over the place and blowing holes in the walls. What kinda business model is that? They couldn't come up with a better way to handle things? I bet this Olivander don't even have insurance." She crosses her arms and leans back. "Guy's an idiot."

Seto eyes Ellie oddly. He's gained some of his composure back, although his eyes are still dull and his face still has a certain sunken look. "These kids go to school in a castle with moving staircases, and—" he coughs for a while "—_that's _the health hazard?"

"Man, whatever." Ellie waves a hand. "Staircases movin' on their own are just escalators. Magic escalators. This Diagon Alley place, though. How many casualties you think they get in a year? Huh? I'm bettin' a lot more than you think."

"It's a kid's book, though!" Yugi puts in. "That kind of stuff wouldn't happen." He sounds very self-assured, and nods as though he's cracked some sort of indelible literary code. Though he still flits his eyes around at the others to see what _they _have to say on the subject.

"Ch'yeah," Ellie says, rolling her eyes. "A kid's book where grown-ass adults leave babies on doorsteps, 'cuz _that's _safe. Hey, here ya go. Special delivery! This kid's parents got blown up, so now it's your job to look after him. We ain't gonna _check _and see how you're doing, so go ahead and vent all your frustrations on him or whatever. See you in ten years!"

"That's how kid's literature works," Seto mutters in a sullen, cynical tone of voice. "The adults are all inept. The kids have to do everything, because the older characters aren't smart enough, or observant enough. They don't care enough. That's . . . that's the point."

A silence settles over this proclamation. Children who have never had cause to listen to Seto before find themselves nodding. And why not? This _would _be the place for such thinking.

Ellie is scowling, but her eyes are bright.

Pegasus looks thoughtful for a moment. Then he says, in all seriousness, "Well, Mokuba? What do _you _think?"

Mokuba grumbles to himself for a moment, then points at the open book in his lap. "Book," he says authoritatively. "Story."

Pegasus laughs. "Well said, little one. An astute observation. Perhaps we're taking things a tad too seriously, hm?" He casts a sideways glance at Seto, whose eyes are half-lidded and fading fast. "Well," he says, shutting the book and adjusting his weight; Mokuba hops down to the floor. "I do believe that's enough for now. Our host looks spent."

Seto says . . . _something_. He turns over, huddles into the covers, and lets out a breath that more clearly bespeaks his relief at being left alone than any words he might have chosen.

Pegasus ushers the others out of the room like a security guard. "All right. Let's leave him to his rest. Come along, now."

The only person he doesn't force to leave is Mokuba, who wanders over to his brother's bedside and puts a hand on the lump of blankets. "Nii'tama feel better," he says earnestly. "No more sick."

Seto forces himself to turn around so he can ruffle his brother's hair.

Mokuba makes a grabbing motion. Seto holds the proffered hand for a moment, smiles, and then turns back around.

Pegasus offers a smile over one shoulder. "Mokuba?" he prompts. "Want to help me make lunch?"

The boy perks up and dutifully follows Pegasus outside, only stopping twice more to check back on his brother.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Sugoroku Mutou chops vegetables with the speed and assurance of a master chef, if not perhaps the skill. Nonetheless, Pegasus holds his tongue. His mother may have taught him that imperfect knife work was the prelude to an imperfect meal, but she _also _taught him that an unkindness—whether of ravens or of words—was a bad omen best not to summon.

In the meantime, Mokuba reprises an old role from the _last _time he helped cook a meal, by washing the various ingredients. Both Pegasus and Sugoroku glance back at the boy every handful of seconds, alternating so that nary a moment is lost in their surveillance; Mokuba is much too excitable to leave to his own devices.

He might fall into the sink and give himself a surprise bath.

Croquet, for his part, keeps eagles' eyes on the entire demonstration, from one corner of the room, and only deviates from this when his employer calls for something specific—which isn't often.

Pegasus Crawford considers cooking, much like painting, to be an activity worthy of nothing less than his undivided attention, and Croquet has a look on his face that says he's wondering if Sugoroku's assistance is helping or hindering the master's concentration.

The kitchen is soon filled with the sweeping, swirling aromas of a Crawford family recipe, and even the orphanage's head cook, who is grudgingly keeping watch outside in the hallway, offended that his sanctuary has been invaded by so many strangers, seems impressed.

Pegasus usually makes a performance out of everything he does, but in this—likely another holdover from his mother's tutelage—he is as dutiful and subdued as a monastic monk. His movements are quick, curt, almost mechanical. His face is a picture in concentration not unlike those seen on the boy for whom he's making this particular potion, and not for the first time Croquet finds himself amused in spite of himself.

Seto Yagami has simultaneously reignited his new guardian's zest for life _and _calmed him down to the point that, sometimes, his feet _actually _seem planted on the ground.

Pegasus doesn't speak _to _anyone until after everything is complete. As he dips a spoon into the soup and waits for it to cool, he bows his head to his adjutant. "My thanks, Master Mutou. I do believe my mother would approve of what we've done today."

Sugoroku laughs. It's a full, booming, lovely sort of sound that bounces off the walls. "Of course, of course! My pleasure, good sir!"

As Pegasus grins like a child and laughs with his companion, Croquet _almost _forgets what sort of man is hidden behind that winning smile and that twinkling eye; what kind of monster is hidden behind his _other _eye.

Twinkling just as brightly, from a different source of light entirely.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

It's nearing sunset when Seto finally opens his eyes again with anything resembling coherence. He's alone, his blankets are stifling, and he's sure that there's something important that he's forgetting, something about which he should be concerned, but for the life of him he can't pinpoint what it is.

He slowly lifts himself up to a sitting position, and looks around. There's something pristine, almost religious, about the silence holding court with him.

He doesn't like it.

A quiet groan escapes Seto's lips as he stands up. His pajamas are heavy with sweat and heat. He pulls at his shirt collar and stumbles outside, not sure of his destination, only knowing that he has to move around or he's going to go crazy. Nonetheless, little whimpers of soreness and a lingering headache manage to escape him.

Seto decides that he doesn't appreciate being sick very much.

When he thinks about it later, Seto doesn't really know how he manages to find his family so quickly. Perhaps it's providence. Perhaps dumb luck. Perhaps it's taken him a lot longer than he realizes, and he just doesn't remember wandering about the orphanage for half an hour. More than once, he runs a hand through his hair, and gets irritated when a stray lock flumps its way back against his forehead.

Even though that's _usually _how he keeps it.

There is a designated play room in the Domino Children's Home, although Seto usually doesn't bother with it; if he were in a better mental state than he is, he might know why that is. As it is, he simply finds it odd—but strangely comforting—that Pegasus and Mokuba are sequestered at one of the craft tables.

Mokuba is scrawling across a sheet of paper with crayons that he seems to select randomly. Pegasus, meanwhile, is carefully sketching with a stick of charcoal. He's talking, although Seto can't hear him as he steps into the room; the man is too quiet for that. Mokuba is grinning and looking over at Pegasus's drawing every so often.

Pegasus eventually holds out a hand, and Mokuba scrounges around his crayons until he plucks up a blue one and hands it over.

David Whittaker, who _had _been working on something that might have been homework, starts to say something when he notices Seto stumbling around, but something stops him.

Seto feels a hand tap his shoulder. "Still lookin' pretty zonked out, there, Yagami."

This prompts Seto to rub at his face, shoving the heel of his hand against one eye in a vain attempt to distract from his headache. "Mnh."

Ellie laughs. "Y'oughtta sit down. Oi! Money man! Lookie what I found!"

Pegasus glances up. He stands up, gestures to Mokuba, and the both of them head over. "Well, I see that _someone _is feeling a little better, at least. What do you think, Seto? Up for a little something to eat?"

Seto realizes all at once that he _is _rather hungry. He nods.

Mokuba stands near Pegasus, looking apprehensively at his brother. "No more sick?" he asks hopefully.

Seto forces himself to smile; it makes his teeth hurt. Or maybe that's just his imagination. He isn't sure. "I'm . . . still sick, Mokie. But . . . I'll be okay."

"I think you'll be interested in this," Pegasus says, putting a hand against Seto's back and leading him gently outside; Mokuba follows at their heels. "I'll have you know that your brother helped me make it."

"Huh?" Seto blinks. "Mokie did?"

"Oh, yes." Pegasus winks. "As did Master Mutou. Most unfortunately, he and Yugi have gone home for the day. But, no matter. You'll be seeing them again soon. The tournament is at their shop, after all."

Seto draws in a shaky breath. "I don't . . . know if I'll be . . ."

"Now, now. None of that. You'll be _fine_. And once you're feeling better, I've enlisted some . . . insider help to get you prepared. It's your first time on the professional circuit! We have to make a good show of it, now, don't we?"

Seto raises an eyebrow; or, tries to. He manages to contort his face into an expression that vaguely encapsulates his incredulity. "It's just a . . . regional tournament."

"Yes," Pegasus holds up a finger, "but you know what they say about journeys and single steps. I like to think I have a good read on you by now, my boy, and I'm sure that you will treat this first tournament just as seriously as you would a world championship. And if you're going to put in that kind of dedication, it simply wouldn't do if _I _didn't do the same. So! We're going to make sure you're ready."

". . . Thanks."

Pegasus ruffles Seto's hair.

"Been hearing about this _tournament_," comes Ellie's voice from Seto's other side, prompting him to remember that she's there. "What've you got up your sleeve, there, Yagami? Huh? You holding out on me?"

Seto doesn't know if his fever has spiked, or if he's blushing.


	25. The Penultimate Ritual

_**Twenty-five. I don't know what it is about the numbers that make up common fractions, but somehow they strike me as particularly noteworthy, every time they come up.**_

_**Just think. If this story were 100 chapters long, just say, then this would be the quarter mark.**_

… _**Of course, if it's longer than that, then … well, decidedly less impressive, I guess, but anyway!**_

_**There's an important event looming ahead, so I guess we'd best get to it.**_

_**Join me, won't you?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Ironically, it isn't until Seto sits down again that he realizes—all at once—that he shouldn't have gotten out of bed in the first place. He's hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea that threatens to topple him over. He blinks, too slowly, and stares at the bowl in front of him. Will it have answers? Is it supposed to tell him something?

Seto is only slightly surprised when he's lifted off his feet by strong arms that shouldn't be familiar . . . except they are.

"Change of plans," Pegasus says as he carries Seto out of the cafeteria; he has a tone of voice that Seto doesn't recognize . . . at first. And then he does. And with that realization comes yet another wave of feeling that he didn't think he'd be having tonight.

Nostalgia.

It's the same no-nonsense voice that his mother used to have, when _she_ would brook no further argument.

Seto is grateful that being horizontal again—roughly, anyway—has helped him clear his head. He isn't groggy, or sleepy, so much as just . . . well, _sick_. He looks around. Ellie has the bowl of soup Pegasus had laid out for him, held almost daintily in both hands. Mokuba is chasing after them.

"I thought . . . I was better," Seto murmurs regretfully.

Pegasus is looking down at him now. Seto thinks he catches something gold behind the man's hair, but no. That can't be. Who wears gold on their face? It isn't an earring; it _certainly _isn't a nose ring.

He must be seeing things.

"You say that as though an apology is waiting in line," Pegasus says, snapping Seto out of his odd thoughts. "Put it from your mind. You're ill, Seto. Even if you _had _done something worth apologizing for, which you didn't, you would be excused." He smiles, then sighs, and puts his vision back in front of him. "That being said, you have to eat _something_. How's your stomach?"

Seto grunts. ". . . Okay. I guess. Maybe."

"Worth the gamble, I suppose," Pegasus mumbles to himself. "Hasn't had anything all day. Hmmmm . . ." He turns his head. "Keeping up, there, little warrior? I'm going to need your assistance."

"Here," Mokuba's voice rings out clear as the proverbial bell.

"Good boy."

And that's the last thing anybody says until Seto is transported back to bed, propped up by every pillow in the room. It's well after dark by this point, and Seto knows he should sleep. But he also knows that Pegasus is right.

He should eat something.

He should _drink _something too, but . . . maybe soup counts for both of those things?

In his current state, still far short of optimal, Seto actually isn't sure about that.

He wonders if he'll remember this strange inquiry once he's well enough to look into it.

Pegasus sits down on the same chair he used earlier in the day, and gestures for Mokuba to join him again. Mokuba hops back up on Pegasus's lap, but this time his full attention is on his brother. The young Yagami's big grey-violet eyes are wide and . . . not quite _wet_, but close to glistening.

Seto hopes he doesn't make his baby brother cry.

Pegasus holds out a hand, and Ellie sets the bowl into it. He dips a finger into the broth, smiles, and says, "Well, that's one net positive. The time we took to change venues has cooled this little number sufficiently, I think."

He flips a spoon out of a pocket—Seto finds this strangely funny, and smiles in spite of himself—and sets the bowl in front of Mokuba. "I think you know what to do, hm?" Pegasus asks.

He holds his spoon in front of Mokuba.

Who proceeds to take it, and—with help from his new guardian—guide a spoonful of broth and vegetables over to Seto. For his part, the elder Yagami _attempts _to protest, and then . . . doesn't.

_Mokie will think he's done something wrong_, Seto thinks, and it's the clearest thought he's had all day.

He takes the offering, chews, swallows, and waits for the next.

Before long, Mokuba is giggling quietly.

Seto isn't sure whether the warmth that blooms in his belly is from the soup—which is quite delicious—or from seeing his brother smile at him again.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Over the course of the next two days, Seto regains his old faculties and sheds his sickness like a second skin. He practices his dueling against Yugi. Excepting the matches they sneak in at school, every move—every card, every strategy, every triumph, every mistake—is scrutinized not only by Sugoroku, but Pegasus as well. The men don't talk much as their respective champions play, but instead reflect and ruminate in silence.

They wait until _after_ each match to start talking. At first, it's directly with each boy in turn; but eventually, they just skip that part and start exchanging strategies with each other.

"_They_ should duel," Seto murmurs under his breath at one point.

Yugi smiles at this, then his eyes go wide as he considers the implications of the idea. Then it dawns on _Seto _what such a match would be like.

They both grin for the next hour.

In the meantime, Mokuba knows that this game is important to his brother, and so he does his best to follow along. But he eventually loses interest because they're playing too quickly for him to keep up. This leads the smallest member of this little troupe to meander over to the games and statues and posters on display around the Turtle.

He likes the pretty artwork.

Natsumi hands Mokuba a feather duster and guides him through cleaning up the front room. He is paid for each shelf he cleans with a brightly-colored polyhedral die; the same kind that everyone used in Pegasus's roleplaying game from Halloween. So far, Mokuba has a collection of eleven; all different shapes and colors. He even has a little drawstring bag with a dragon on it—"bay-bee _dragon_"—to keep them in.

Something returns to Seto Yagami as he plays _Magic &amp; Wizards_: an old, hardened edge that's been softening over the past few months. When he sits at a table, and sets his cards at his right hand like a finely-tuned firearm, Seto's face goes blank and his eyes start blazing.

This game is his escape, a coping mechanism from a time when he had no other.

He still treats it with an old desperation.

Seto seems to think that if he treats the game any _less _seriously than he used to, back when this game was his only source of comfort, the cards will be offended. Oddly enough, instead of being intimidated or put off by this, Yugi seems not only to understand, but to embrace the notion just as fervently.

A transformation undergoes both boys when they sit down to do battle, and before long they're practically shouting at each other.

While Natsumi often puts on an exasperated expression as these two friends point at each other and slam cards down on the table with all the ferocity of ancient gladiators, and Mokuba typically freezes in place like a deer in headlights because Nii'tama only shouts when scary things are happening, both Sugoroku and Pegasus are delighted at this display of infectious energy.

They encourage it.

They _embody _it.

The day before the tournament is scheduled, Ellie makes an appearance just before closing. There aren't any customers. In fact, aside from the three children, there are only two other _people _in the building, as far as Ellie can see: two men are in a back corner, playing a board game.

Though no one could have guessed how empty the shop was, based on the noise.

Seto is focused on, not to mention energized by, the fact that he's finally managed to summon his Blue-Eyes White Dragon in two turns; and he's so invested in seeing whether or not Yugi can come up with something to counter it that he wouldn't notice if there was a fifty-six car pileup outside the shop.

Mokuba sees her, though, and tries to tell his brother. Unfortunately, he hasn't quite figured out the notion that he should use a person's _full _name to call out to them, since the word he uses for Ellie is apparently "Yah!"

When Nii'tama doesn't react with the proper amount of delight at the prospect of Yah coming to visit—he's too busy explaining what _Pot of Greed _does—Mokuba decides to play the host himself. He makes his slow, waddling way over to her and points back over his shoulder. "Nii'tama play game," he announces solemnly.

"I see that," Ellie offers, in an equally sober tone. She reaches down and ruffles Mokuba's hair, and takes in the Turtle as though she's a prospective buyer; or a detective. She's wearing her signature leather jacket over a less-than-stylish t-shirt that might have once had a logo on it. Now it just has a smattering of red. From a distance, it almost looks like she's bleeding.

Or else, that's what she's been told; more than once, usually by school officials who insist that the shirt is inappropriate.

Ellie saunters over to the table where the boys are playing, and stands behind Seto's left shoulder in absolute silence. She glances down at Mokuba—who has followed her like a dutiful puppy—holds a finger over her lips, then winks at him.

Mokuba seems to catch on, and covers his mouth. His eyes are twinkling.

Of the two combatants, Yugi notices first. He blinks. Ellie goes through the same ritual with him: finger over lips, wink. Yugi grins toothily, and goes right back to the game.

They finish one match—Yugi wins—and Seto is halfway through the next before he realizes that something is strange. He looks around, asks himself where their self-appointed coaches went, then when _that _match is over—_he_ wins—and Seto is focused on reshuffling his cards, Yugi finally starts snickering.

Before long, it's an out-and-out laugh, and then _Mokuba _starts in, and finally Seto looks around. "What . . . ? What's so . . . ?"

Ellie taps Seto's shoulder.

Seto drops his cards with a cry, and looks shakily behind him.

He _squeaks_.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto is still blushing, beet-red, with criminal embarrassment half an hour later, as he helps Natsumi set the table for dinner and Sugoroku listens with all the enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old while Yugi goes over a play-by-play of his and Seto's latest skirmishes. Ellie is bereft of her jacket and looks supremely awkward in her own right. She hadn't expected an invitation into the Mutous' apartment to join them for their evening meal, much less Natsumi's apparent inability to comprehend language when Ellie initially refused.

"I think somebody's upset," she eventually confides in Mokuba, who's holding his silverware in a vice grip and doing a little wiggling dance in his chair.

"Nii'tama _scared_," Mokuba replies. "Nii'tama _cry_." Then he lets out a little sound and fumbles with his fork and butter knife. He starts laughing. Seto shoots his brother a withering glare, but Mokuba stares right back. "Tried _tell _you."

Ellie shrugs. "He did. I heard him."

"Hmph" is Seto's response.

Mokuba makes a face at Seto; Seto sticks his tongue out at Mokuba. Mokuba giggles; Seto smiles.

Ellie rolls her eyes.

There's an order to the proceedings when it comes to meals at the Mutou household, to which Ellie McAllister is not privy. Each dish goes around the table in a circle. Natsumi informs Ellie that every guest in her home is allowed to name _one _food item that they may skip over with impunity.

Ellie picks the pork and beans.

For the most part, the entire clan eats in silence. Every once in a while, Natsumi will ask Ellie a question. Ellie will only offer as many words as she has to in order to not be rude.

She, like Seto, has to be convinced before she'll warm up to a given adult.

Ellie's shield is thicker, though.

"What do you think, boys?" Sugoroku asks of Yugi and Seto, as things are wrapping up and Natsumi is handing out bowls for ice cream. "Are you ready?"

"I think so," Yugi says absently; he's already descending into his Rocky Road like a natural disaster.

"I have no idea," Seto says, in the precise opposite tone: he's nervous, like he's at a job interview, and he's licking at his lips and tapping his fingertips against his thumbs. He'll steal a glance at Ellie, or Yugi, or his brother, every so often.

He seems bound and determined to not make eye contact with the proprietor of the Turtle Game Shop, who just so happens to be the judge for the upcoming tournament.

"Think I'm gonna have to swing by for this," Ellie says after an awkward silence. "Looks like you two were gettin' heavy into it when I showed up today." Seto _eeps_, and Yugi chuckles nervously as he rubs at the back of his own neck.

"It's important to be _energetic _about your passions!" Sugoroku declares. He lifts up a hand and clenches it into a dramatic fist. "No matter what it is." He points at Ellie. "You just watch. This game is going to _sweep _pop culture off its feet." He taps his own nose. "I've a sense for these things."

Ellie nods agreeably. "I'll bet."

"Where's . . . Mister Crawford?" Seto interjects suddenly.

Sugoroku blinks. "Ah. He said he had something to take care of. I'll be taking you all home tonight."

Seto tries mightily not to look as crestfallen as he is. "Oh."

The old man leans over, and gently pokes Seto's arm with an elbow. "You want the God's honest? _I _think he's planning on doing something special for this event. Imagine it! The first official tournament staged here in Domino City, and the game's _creator _is in attendance! It'll be _historic_!"

Seto swallows visibly. ". . . R-Right."

"Stop scaring the poor boy," Natsumi admonishes, offering a bowl of French Vanilla to placate her father-in-law. "He's under enough pressure as it is. What would you like, honey?"

Sugoroku visibly deflates, but he's quickly all smiles again.

Seto blinks, realizing that _honey _means him. "Oh. Uh . . . um . . . Vanilla. I guess. With . . . with sprinkles?"

"Ditto for me, 'f ya wouldn't mind," Ellie puts in, holding up a hand like she's in class.

Natsumi beams at the both of them.

"Coming right up."


	26. They Hold Magic in Their Hands

_**I thought, maybe, that I would be able to condense this first Magic &amp; Wizards tournament into a single chapter. As it turns out, I was absolutely mistaken. So, welcome to the first half of a two-part series which will detail Seto's first foray into competitive dueling.**_

_**It's interesting, I think, to picture Seto at this stage of his career. So to speak. Not yet a champion. Not yet an innovator. Just a kid. A little kid with some cards in his pocket and some dreams in his head.**_

_**Now. I know that reading duels in fanfiction is … less than popular. So if that's not really your thing, then I'll recommend right here and now that you skip over the third scene. That's where the majority of the actual dueling takes place.**_

_**Be that as it may, I tried to make things as streamlined and engaging as possible, all things considered, and I hope that you'll give this a shot. This is a very in-universe sort of thing, by which I mean only those of us who've watched the game in action — either in real life or in the manga / anime — will probably get the most out of this.**_

_**I try to write my stories such that anyone can read them, even folks who aren't in the fandom. But in this case, Scene 3 is … insiders only, I guess I'll call it.**_

_**That all said …**_

_**DUEL!**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Thirty-two duelists crowd the main floor of the Turtle Game Shop on Saturday. Eighteen boys and fourteen girls, each with a varying level of excitement and/or nervousness; it's a spectrum, with Yugi at the first extreme and Seto at the second.

The older set—teenagers, all—seem to be right in the middle; they probably think of this event as just another tournament. There's a prize for everyone who wins a duel today, with a secret prize in line for the winner of the whole thing, and that seems to be all they're here for. Seto spends a fair amount of time trying to pick these ones out of the crowd. It isn't particularly difficult.

They're the ones who look bored.

Yugi can spot them, too, and he's completely unconcerned. "Grandpa taught me better than to lose to someone like that," he says.

Seto is skeptical of his friend's confidence.

Booster packs—the main prizes for the day's events—surely wouldn't impress a boy who got his cards from the owner of the shop where they're playing. It's easy to focus on the spirit of competition when you already have all the material prizes you could ever need.

Then Seto looks down at _his_ cards, given to him by the game's creator, and wonders if his mild irritation makes him a hypocrite.

Seto shakes his head vigorously, and tells himself he can't think about that right now. He has to focus. Everyone in the shop today—aside from Ellie and his brother, who are sitting out of the way at a free table—is a potential threat. A predator.

Yugi asked this morning if Seto had stage fright.

He didn't, and doesn't.

But he _is _claustrophobic all of a sudden.

Five rounds. He has to make it through five rounds. The first will start at noon. Each participant, all thirty-two of them, will be receiving a promotional card from the first booster set for next year—_**Pharaoh's Servant**_—which will be revealed when they sit down for their first skirmish.

Seto, and Yugi, and all the others, will be randomly matched with an opponent, making up sixteen duels. Once those duels are over, so is the first round. The second round will take place at 12:30 PM. The first sixteen winners will be set before each other. Then the remaining eight will sit a new duel at 1, and so on.

Until 2 PM, when the last two duelists will have a full, three-duel match to decide the tournament by 3.

Seto doesn't think of himself as arrogant, but he isn't concerned about the first round. Even if he's matched against Yugi, Seto thinks he should be okay; he's won about half of the games he and Yugi have played. The only thing that worries Seto is a lingering suspicion that Yugi hasn't been playing to the best of his ability up to now. He hasn't been "playing for keeps." Seto isn't sure _why _he thinks this, but he does.

There are so many more people in the Turtle today than is usual; Seto finds it difficult to stand still. He keeps instinctively trying to step out of the way whenever somebody moves; he's used to having a buffer zone, a bit of space, between himself and pretty much anyone whose name isn't Mokuba.

The Mutous' shop isn't tiny, by any means, but with all these duelists around, alongside the normal comings-and-goings of other customers, there's barely an inch or two for Seto to move around in. He'd been offered a seat next to his brother earlier in the morning, but Seto told himself that he wouldn't sit unless he was dueling.

He doesn't want to lose focus.

He's looking over his cards for the fifteenth time since waking up at . . . what was it, again? 4 AM? Seto isn't sure. His cards aren't the best; even though Pegasus offered him free access to a briefcase _full _of cards to make up the deck he's holding right now, he hadn't taken up all the rarest and most powerful. Seto had figured at the time that it would have given a bad impression and, after all, he'd only just met the man.

Now, Seto realizes that it wouldn't have made the slightest difference. He could have made himself a deck worth hundreds if not thousands of dollars, and his new guardian wouldn't have batted an eyelash.

With just one little dragon in his possession, Seto's deck—as unimpressive as it might have looked to a seasoned duelist—is probably _already _worth hundreds of dollars, if not more.

He's admiring that dragon, as he's done nearly every day since his birthday, when someone collides with his shoulder and sends him—and his cards—sprawling to the floor.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Elliana Josephine McAllister.

It's got a noble sort of sound to it. And honestly, that's half the reason Ellie doesn't like her name in the first place. The last thing she'd consider herself is _noble_, and yet that's the only word she's ever pinned down that seems to . . . encapsulate the whole operation.

Unless it's "regal."

But who the hell uses _that_ word in conversation, anyway?

All this said, she supposes there really isn't a word for what she's doing today, unless it _is_ noble. She could be hanging around that little mini-mart Rosco likes so much. She could be practicing guitar. She could be watching TV, or _sleeping_.

She could even do her homework if she felt like being frisky.

But instead of doing any of that, Elliana Such-and-Such McAllister is sitting at a flimsy plastic table, looking after this squeaky little proto-human so his brother can focus on card games.

She doesn't read too much into this, though. Not really. Yagami's a good enough kid, easy to deal with, and the pipsqueak's pretty damn cute when you stop and give him a chance. Like there's the fact he keeps looking around every handful of seconds to make sure he can see his brother. He knows you're supposed to keep an eye on your family. That's what Nii'tama always does. So Mokuba tries to do the same thing.

Owing to this, _he's _the first one to notice when some uppity teenage snit in a polo shirt hip-checks the elder Yagami and sends him flailing.

As Seto bites it on the linoleum with a hard _cracking _sound that makes Ellie flinch, the kid's prized _Magic &amp; Wizards _deck—slipped so carefully into those card sleeves Yugi got him for his birthday—makes like a puddle of milk, spreading out from the busted saucer of his hands.

Seto's eyes harden.

So do Ellie's.

Polo Shirt sniffs. "Watch yourself, Junior. This isn't Free Comic Day. Ought to go somewhere more suited to your skill level. Duel someone your speed. Like at kindergarten."

He thinks he's clever. Ellie knows Polo Shirt's type. He's got frosted tips, khaki shorts, sandals. He's a walking joke, and the only think that would make everything worse is if his shirt had stripes.

Seto stays on the ground, lifting himself up on one knee. His eyes are downcast. "How about you go jump under a bus?" he snaps. "I know where I am. Apparently _you're _the one too blinded by your own effervescent fuckery to pay attention."

Ellie smirks. Yeah. This is one of the good ones.

Polo Shirt doesn't share her opinion. He puffs up. "What'd you say?"

Ellie makes a point of being as loud as possible as she _shrieks _her chair across the floor. "You heard the man," she says. "Pay attention next time." She walks over. Anyone standing between her and her target knows better than to stay there. "This ain't the time or place for hierarchy bullshit. One, you're in a freaking comic store. Chill out. Two, y'ain't won yet. Right now, you're on a level with the rest of these kids."

"Who are _you_?" Polo Shirt snaps. "You look like you just came out of the gu—"

Ellie's arm snaps out like a coiled viper and grabs the punk by his collar. She twists, pulls, and suddenly he's eye level with her. "Keep talkin', Spanky. Gimme an excuse." She pauses; her eyes say what her voice doesn't. "Now. You gonna apologize? Or'm I gonna _make _you?"

A quiet "_Ooooooooooh _. . ." resonates through the crowd, backed by soft laughter.

Polo Shirt doesn't look so confident anymore.

Ellie grins like a shark.

"It's fine," Seto says into the stand-off. He's still on one knee, and he's started gathering his cards together in a pile. "Don't . . . worry about it."

"Clemency," Ellie says, through clenched teeth. She lets Polo Shirt go. "Lucky you. My knuckles are almost healed. Been itching to _fix _that." She straightens, turns away, and heads back to her table. "Grind that stupid hair into the dirt, Yagami," she says as she sits back down. "Ain't gonna forgive you if you lose."

Seto puts on a smirk of his own. "Please."

"Nii'tama _good _job," Mokuba says decisively.

The smirk softens into a smile. "You bet, Mokie."

Mokuba giggles, and drums his hands on the table.

The tension in the room dissipates as Polo Shirt slinks away, and Seto stands back up.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Polo Shirt's name turns out to be Graham Miller, and he's the one who sits at the other side of Seto's table as the first round is set to begin. While chairs scrape across the tile floor of the shop and everyone prepares for war, Seto paints a coy little smile onto his face.

He shuffles his cards almost daintily. "What a fun coincidence!" he says. He gained his confidence back in spades as soon as he recognized the man in the wide-brimmed hat and the long coat, who showed up right as noon rolled around.

Apparently Pegasus wants to make a surprise entrance later.

But he's here, whether anyone else knows it yet or not.

He's here, and he's watching.

Graham grimaces. "Cute, Junior. C'mon. Let's get to it."

Sugoroku claps his hands together. "If I might have your attention, Duelists!" he calls out in a declamatory thunderclap of a voice that surprises even Yugi. "You have thirty minutes to do battle! If a duel is ongoing after thirty minutes, the duelist with the most life points will be declared the winner. Each winner of this first round will automatically qualify for our next regional tournament, to be held at Grand Violet's Convention Center five months from now! Everyone has their promotional trap from _**Pharaoh's Servant **_squared away, I trust?"

_**Gift of the Mystical Elf**_. A new trap card offered, ahead of its set's release date next year, specifically to the participants of this tournament. Seto isn't entirely certain why a card that grants life points for each monster on the field qualifies as a _**trap**_, but he supposes now isn't the time to think about that.

Maybe he'll ask Pegasus about it later.

Sugoroku goes over more fine print. More rules. The list of illegal cards, which is thankfully shorter than Seto might have expected. He smiles when he realizes that his opponent is clearly bored, not to mention insulted that he's been set up to duel against a grade-schooler.

_**Good**_, Seto thinks with more than a little smug satisfaction. _**Underestimate me**_.

The duel begins.

Seto wins, scissors to paper, and chooses to go second.

They draw their first hands.

8,000 life points, and five monsters.

No spells or traps at all. Seto bites at his lower lip. Not optimal. But, he supposes, he can make do. He has one tribute monster—_**Firewing Pegasus**_; how fitting is _that_?—one defensive wall—_**The Dragon Dwelling in the Cave**_; again, a fitting first draw—and a couple of effect monsters he should be able to make good use of.

Seto watches as Graham sets one monster onto his field, then gestures dismissively for Seto to take his turn.

"Draw," Seto declares out of habit; he and Yugi call out each move as they take it. Graham gives him a look, but doesn't say anything. Seto can hear Yugi doing the same thing on the other side of the room.

He smiles again.

_**Banner of Courage**_. An attack boost that only activates during _his_ Battle Phase. Yugi has made use of _that_ particular loophole more than once.

"I summon _**Fencing Fire Ferret**_," Seto declares with conviction, "and activate _**Banner of Courage**_. Battle!" He points at Graham's monster. "I attack your set card!"

Graham smirks. "Sorry, kid." He flips over _**Battle Footballer**_, which boasts a defense score higher than even Seto's magically-charged ferret. "Looks like first blood is mine."

Seto frowns. "Hm."

7,800.

Not bad, considering. But still. It's the first turn.

Graham puts on a taunting little smirk. "I'll take that little scowl of yours as license to take my next turn, then? Or has Junior got an extra trick up his sleeve for Main Phase Two?"

Seto imitates Graham's gesture, waving a hand. He tries not to sulk.

Graham switches his footballer to attack, and then summons a second monster to join it on the field. Even though this new addition has substantially fewer attack points than Seto's ferret, Graham sacrifices 500 of his own life points to attack with it. Its effect sends both it _and_ the ferret off of the field.

Banished from play.

Leaving Seto wide open for his other monster.

"Oh-ho!" Graham chuckles. "Sorry about that. Looks like even _with _that little handicap, I'm still on top. Whatcha at after that one, little guy? 6,800? And it's the second turn, right? Mm. Not looking too good for you."

Seto ignores him. Takes a new card to start his next turn.

"I activate _**Shard of Greed**_!" Seto slams his newly-drawn spell down on the table. "And then I'll summon _**Armored Bee**_! Your pesky little football player loses half of his attack points for this turn!"

Graham quirks an eyebrow. ". . . Huh. All right. Not bad."

"Battle!"

Seto doubts that Graham is doing this, but _he's _picturing the monsters actually fighting somewhere. Maybe a field, like the kind where soldiers in early wars would come with their banners and trumpets and muskets. So when Graham tosses his _**Power Footballer **_onto his pile of used-up cards, Seto pictures a huge insect covered with plates and chainmail, piercing a hulking sportsman right through his ribcage.

He chuckles darkly to himself.

"Welp," Graham says as he draws his next card, "I guess I'll just have to replace that monster with another one." He puts on a thoughtful face. "Like this?" He sets down _**Battle Ox**_, and makes quick work of Seto's bee.

6,700.

". . . All right," Seto says as he draws another cave dragon. "That's about enough of _that_." He grins at Graham Miller and chuckles to himself again. "You did better than I thought. Luck of the draw. But I'm not losing any more life points. Not one."

Graham leans back in his chair. "That right?"

Seto nods. "Yep." He sets his dragon face-down on the table. "Your turn."

* * *

**4.**

* * *

". . . and thanks to its effect, your _**Fiend Megacyber **_is barely a distraction! I'll attack _it _with _**Armored Bee**_—welcome back—and attack you directly with _**Firewing Pegasus **_and _**Blazing Inpachi**_!"

Graham Miller is outright scowling now. True to his promise, Seto's life points have stayed at 6,700 ever since he proclaimed they would stay there.

While Graham is now left with a measly 100.

Graham grunts as he draws a card. "_**Kageningen**_," he declares with quiet finality, "in Attack Mode."

It's a pitiful move. _**Kageningen **_is a filler monster. Weak, disposable. Tribute fodder. But he doesn't want to draw this out any more than he has to.

Seto nods, more to himself than to his opponent.

The duel ends after the twelfth turn, and no question as to who conquered whom. As both boys gather together their cards and stand up, Seto finds himself stunned when Graham holds out a hand.

"Sorry 'bout before. Sure showed me, didn'tcha?" he offers with a lopsided smile. "Guess I'll think twice before I make fun o' the younger set next time, won't I?"

Seto smiles. Shakes the offered hand. "Thanks for the game," he offers.

Graham winks. "Now. You win this one, huh? Don't make me bowin' out in the first round count for nothing."

Seto nods decisively. "Sure thing."

* * *

**5.**

* * *

An hour later, Seto and Yugi meet outside, near Natsumi's car in the parking lot behind the Turtle. Neither has to ask the other how things are going. They skip over that and start straight into the specifics of their exploits.

". . . _**Swords of Revealing Light**_. Twice in a row!" Seto sniffs derisively. "But, whatever. I didn't even lose life points. The first round was harder than the second."

Yugi lifts up his booster pack. "You gonna look at your new cards?"

"No," Seto says. He hasn't even picked out his free pack, earned by winning his way into the third round. "I'm going to wait until the end of the tournament." He lifts up his cards. "I'll use this deck for all five rounds."

It's no longer a question. Seto _knows _he's going to make it to the final match.

From the way Yugi's eyes are sparkling, he has a similar sentiment. He puts on a shifty, conspiratorial smirk. "How many monsters did you get? When you got the swords, I mean."

"Four," Seto says. "_**Gravi-Crush**_, _**Breaker**_, _**Red Lotus**_, and _**Alector**_."

Yugi lets out a low whistle. "Bet _that _wasn't fun from the other side, huh?"

Seto grins toothily. "Nope."

They share a laugh of shared triumph.

Seto has a sixth sense when it comes to his brother, such that Yugi doesn't even react when his friend turns away before there's any kind of indication that Mokuba's nearby.

The toddler rushes outside with his hands up, and Ellie coming up behind him. "Nii'tama _win_!"

Seto grins and bends down to lift Mokuba up into his arms. "Not yet, Mokie. The tournament isn't over."

Mokuba looks crestfallen. "Not over?"

"Mm-mm. But! Just a couple more rounds and . . ."

Mokuba's face brightens as he throws his hands up again. "Ulmit vickery!"

Seto laughs as he hugs Mokuba to him like he hasn't seen his brother in a month. "That's right, little guy. Ultimate victory!"

Mokuba cheers.

"Don't get _too _confident, there, _Master Yagami_," Yugi says, sauntering over and crossing his arms. "One of these rounds, you're gonna face _me_."

"Bring it on," Seto shoots back. "I'm unstoppable."

As Seto and Yugi continue posturing, Ellie leans against the back wall of the Turtle. She plucks a cigarette out of her jacket pocket, looks at it for a while, then rolls her eyes and puts it back.

Mokuba waves at her; she waves back.

Seto turns and grins at her; she grins back.

Yugi, ever the supreme nerd king, bows low at the waist.

Ellie rolls her eyes again, and affects a curtsy.

". . . Frickin' kids."

* * *

**.**

* * *

_**For the record. These cards are all legit. I used the PlayStation 4 game, "Yu-Gi-Oh! Legacy of the Duelist," to plot out Seto's duel with Graham, to ensure that things would be accurate. As you can see, though, I don't intend to give a play-by-play breakdown.**_

_**It is my intention to cover only the vital moves in a given duel. The most important. The most … interesting.**_

_**Incidentally, if anyone is curious. The full names for the monsters Seto mentions in Scene 5 are:**_

_**Gravi-Crush Dragon  
Breaker the Magical Warrior  
Knight of the Red Lotus  
Alector, Sovereign of Birds**_

_**All right. I think that's all the fine print out of the way. 'Til the thrilling conclusion, take care of yourselves, and be good to one another.**_

_**Au revoir.**_


	27. The Mantle They Wear

_**This has been a long time coming, and I'm not entirely sure what insidious sorcery has kept my imagination from working with me on this one. Probably the duels. It's hard to write a complete retelling of Yu-Gi-Oh! while completely avoiding the duels, but that doesn't stop my brain from trying.**_

_**I'm still new to the game, see. It's been years since I last tried to play.**_

_**Over a decade, I think.**_

_**This all said, though, there's no duel here. Just the lead-up to one. Still, there's some important stuff that gets laid out here, I think, and so I hope it will stand up on its own.**_

_**Shall we?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Seto is already blushing.

He's been running through reasons why the whole thing is a ridiculous idea every spare moment, and so far he has a list of forty-seven bullet points. He's counted them several times already. If he had the time, he would probably write them all out and present them to Yugi like a book report.

Actually, if he had the time, Seto would write the _book_.

If he only had a notepad, he would probably start right now.

Anything to delay the inevitable.

This is dumb. It's embarrassing. He can't believe he agreed to do it.

Did he think that he and Yugi wouldn't make it to the last round? That this wouldn't happen? But then, Seto reminds himself rather fervently that this is what he's _wanted _all along. He _wanted_ to face Yugi in the last match of the tournament. He's spent the days leading up to this daydreaming about facing his friend in an official arena for the first time, for a title. For a prize.

For honor.

He's thought that, if he can just win this tournament, then maybe he can say he's earned everything that's happened to him. If he can just prove that Sugoroku Mutou's faith in him as a student is justified, that Pegasus Crawford's faith in him as a—

_son_

—protégé is justified, then he can be _happy _about all of this. No strings attached. No second-guessing. No guilt. He can just be happy.

For once.

And the absolute _best _way to do this would be to face Yugi in the final round.

So why . . . ?

Yugi's grin shows off all of his teeth. "You ready?" His voice is vibrating with excitement. "Here we are! Round Five! You . . . you remember what you said, right?" He suddenly looks apprehensive. "You said you'd do it. You're gonna do it, right?"

Seto grimaces. "I . . . I'll do it. I said I would. I will. But . . . Yugi, are you _sure _about. . . ?"

"You heard what Grandpa said! This tournament is _historic_!" He starts on a perfect mimicry of his grandfather's raspy voice: "'Our little city is at the precipice of gaming history! And you knights are in the presence of a king!'" Seto actually giggles a little. Yugi elbows Seto in the ribs. "You know who the king is, right?" Seto blinks. "The king's your new dad."

Seto's mouth suddenly goes dry. His lips quiver.

Yugi throws a conspiratorial arm around his friend's shoulders. "So come on, Prince Seto! Let's make it special our own selves!"

Seto stutters, trying vainly to find words.

He starts to remember what he's been worrying about. "B-But . . . I mean . . . look at all these _people_. They aren't going to . . . _get _it. Are they?"

"They're duelists! Just like us! They'll get it!"

Seto groans, runs a hand over his face. "You're . . . really optimistic, huh?"

"Yep!"

Seto isn't sure why any of this surprises him. It surely shouldn't. He draws in a deep breath, then another. He straightens his collar, rolls his shoulders, and prepares to make an absolute fool out of himself. _After all_, he thinks, only half-joking, _there's always a chance a city bus will come barreling through the wall to run me over_.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Seto feels like a secret agent as the man with the wide hat and the long coat covertly gestures for him to step outside the shop. The feeling is enhanced when he steps out and sees Croquet standing there, holding an inconspicuous bundle in his hands as he waits for a signal from his master.

_Your mission_, Seto thinks idly, _should you choose to accept it_—

His daydream is cut short as Pegasus rips his hat off and _whirls _to face Seto like he's just found the secret to eternal youth. The man's eye is sparkling, his grin is infectious, and there's laughter hidden behind every move he makes.

"Spectacular work in there! _Fantastic_! The gods themselves couldn't mold a better first performance!" Pegasus howls with laughter, and Seto feels himself blushing again for a whole different sequence of reasons.

"You've improved quite remarkably," Croquet offers, and Seto is doubly surprised at how _much _this surprises him. He supposes he's been thinking of his new guardian's sunglassed, mustachioed companion as a . . . a business associate. Nothing more. Sometimes, Croquet even seems like a babysitter. There to keep _Master Crawford _on whatever leash he can manage.

That he's been watching Seto's duels closely enough to notice improvement isn't something Seto would have anticipated.

He smiles. "T-Thank you."

"I knew it. I _knew _it!" Pegasus is dancing around. "A truer warden for the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, there never has been!" He throws his head back and laughs at the sky.

"I'm just . . . I'm trying to . . . well . . ." Seto trails off, sure that Pegasus can't hear him over the sound of his own reverie. The boy rubs his hands on his pants; he's sweating, and he isn't sure why.

Then Pegasus suddenly cuts himself off. He looks down, Seto looks up, and he raises that one visible eyebrow. "Hm? Trying to do what, my boy?"

Seto fidgets. "I'm . . . trying to . . . live up to your . . . expectations?"

The look that crosses Pegasus's face is confusing. Then he kneels down and puts his hands on Seto's shoulders. "Now, now. Let's get one thing straight and orderly, here. This is _your _day. You hear me? _You _made it to the final round of your very first tournament. _You're_ the youngest duelist out of thirty-two in there, and _you've_ shown everyone what you're made of. This isn't about me. At all. You just remember that. This is _yours_."

"But . . . you said . . . before, when we first . . . met. You said you were watching me. You said I . . . had the makings of a tournament duelist. So I just . . ."

Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? He's been drifting on clouds all day. Why is talking to the man who made it all possible—no matter what _he _says about it—suddenly so arduous? None of his opponents have made him feel this way.

Pegasus ruffles Seto's hair. It's a strangely solemn gesture. "That was meant to be a motivating compliment, and nothing else. It was never my intention to play gatekeeper with your future. I'm sorry to have placed such a burden on you." He stands up again. "Ah. I know. I have something I want to show our two finalists. Could you do me the honor of gathering Yugi? Croquet, I trust everything is in order."

Croquet lifts the bundle he's been holding. "Of course, sir."

"Excellent."

Seto turns back toward the shop, a bit lighter on his feet than when he left.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Croquet sets the bundle down on the hood of Pegasus's car, and unwraps it so that Yugi and Seto can see. It turns out to be three booster boxes, just like the ones Sugoroku has strategically placed throughout the shop. He rearranged them this morning, in fact.

The only difference is, _these _boxes have the name _**Pharaoh's Servant **_emblazoned across their tops.

"Now, as I'm sure you both know," Pegasus says, "these aren't scheduled for release until next year. But! What's the fun in waiting?" He chuckles. "These will be handed out to everyone who's won booster packs today. There's enough here for everyone to have two servants for each one they've already won." He winks, as though he's made a joke.

Seto frowns. "So, since Yugi and I have won five . . . we'll get ten more?"

"Correct!"

Seto's breath catches in his throat.

The thought is tempting. Intoxicating, even.

But the frown remains on his face.

"What's the catch?"

Pegasus smirks devilishly. "Whosoever wins this tournament will have upon his shoulders the . . . responsibility, let's say, of one more battle. For _this _treasure trove, one of you will have to face _me_."

Seto and Yugi look at each other.

The grin spreading across Yugi's face is as blissful as anything Seto has ever seen, and Seto himself can't deny that his blood is practically singing at the chance to finally settle the score that's been on his shoulders since the day he met this man. The nervousness that plagued him is gone. Incinerated.

There is only the _thrill_.

For a moment.

Then Seto frowns again. He thinks of Graham, and everyone else who lost in the first round. And the second. ". . . More than half the people in there," he gestures toward the shop, "didn't win any booster packs." He quirks an eyebrow at Yugi. "It won't be very exciting for _them_."

"Prob'ly be boring," Yugi says, nodding. "They won't have any _investment_. Right?"

Seto nods back. "Exactly." He turns back to Pegasus. "How about this instead? We'll duel you. But then _everybody _gets three packs from those boxes there. Whether they won anything or not."

Yugi is grinning again. Seto is not.

Pegasus, for his part, looks stunned.

"That . . . is an _excellent _idea. Very well, boys. Bargain struck! If one of you younglings should meet me in the field of battle, then each of your compatriots will go home with a prize. _Three_ prizes." He holds up a finger. "But don't mistake yourself. This won't be easy. I hope you're prepared."

Yugi laughs. "I was born prepared!"

Seto nods, eyes glittering, and doesn't say anything else.

* * *

**4.**

* * *

An expectant, awestruck hush settles over the crowd of duelists like a soft wave on a midnight beach. For a moment, just a flash, Seto doesn't understand why everyone looks so surprised, and it's this reaction that really hammers home the fact that his life has taken entirely too many weird turns lately.

Some part of him has honestly forgotten that seeing Pegasus Crawford in person is a big deal.

One of the youngest millionaires to ever visit Domino City. Entrepreneur. Genius game designer. Prodigy. So many different labels that Seto has seen plastered all over magazines and tabloids and other things, on the rare occasions that he's picked to join Kristine on a trip to the grocery store. Seto recalls rather distantly that he's applied many of those labels to Pegasus himself during various states of reverie.

_I wonder if I can be like him when I'm older_, he's thought before. _I wonder if I can create something this special_._ This revolutionary_._ This wonderful_._ I hope so_.

Seto remembers how overwhelmed he'd felt the first time he met this man. This man, throwing off his heavy coat and flourishing his wide-brimmed hat like he's the opening act for a stage magician. This man, stepping up onto a chair and towering over everyone in the room.

Now, a mere smattering of months later, he's just . . . Pegasus.

The man with the odd name and the silver hair who saw two boys in a throwaway orphanage and decided they were human beings.

Seto doesn't know why his heart seems to beat mercilessly against his ribcage whenever he talks to Pegasus, but it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he's a celebrity.

"If I may have your _attention_, duelists?" The man's voice is unchecked power. Seto hisses in an expectant breath. His back goes stiff. "I do hope I may be forgiven for crashing the party, but I couldn't resist such a momentous event." Pegasus bows with a flourish. "If I might introduce myself. My name is Pegasus Jareth Crawford," as if anyone in this room doesn't know who he is, "the creator of this wonderful game."

He grins, then quirks an eyebrow. "Am I not supposed to say that? It isn't very gentlemanly of me, is it? So _arrogant_." A brief touch of laughter and hesitant applause. The mirth comes back. "Oh, well. Perhaps I may be forgiven. I am here this glorious Autumn afternoon to make an announcement. A challenge, if you like. If our final two skirmishers could step forward, please?"

And so it begins.

Pegasus goes over the bargain they've hashed out, and everyone cheers. As the two final duelists prepare to sit down and fight for the right to face the king, Seto realizes that Natsumi Mutou has come down from the main apartment to watch. Ellie and Mokuba have moved from their table to stand with the others.

Seto happens to look toward the front entrance, and his gaze snags on Daniel Elliot, leaning against the wall. Their eyes meet, and the director tosses a thumbs-up.

Seto smiles for a flash of a moment, strangely touched, and then he's suddenly mortified.

He looks back at Yugi and remembers.

_Oh_, _crap_.

* * *

**5.**

* * *

"Here for the big event, are you?" Pegasus asks, as he sidles up to Dan and turns to watch as the boys shuffle their cards.

"Seto mentioned the last round was at 2. I'll admit, I banked on him getting there. Prob'ly should have shown up earlier, just in case." Dan chuckles quietly to himself. "Still. Looks like he did just fine."

"He certainly did."

Yugi has switched out the sleeves he uses to protect his cards from various forms of damage. Every time he's dueled before that Pegasus can recall, they've had an orange fire design. Yugi has opted for a new set today—or is this a specific ritual for his match with Seto?—with a purple star-scape. Is this noteworthy? Pegasus wonders.

He recalls that he doesn't _have _to wonder, but realizes with a jolt that the idea of sifting through Yugi's memories to find the answer to this conundrum . . . just doesn't feel like an option. Guilt stabs into Pegasus like a hot knife at the flagrant hypocrisy of this sudden unease, but he forces these thoughts away.

No.

Not now.

This is a huge moment for Seto and Yugi both. Nothing but tumultuous excitement will do. Pegasus puts on a smile like most men put on a tie. Even if it strangles him, there are some days when it simply must be worn.

But he barely has that smile fixed on his face when it falters again.

Something is wrong.

Seto has several nervous tics that Pegasus has observed over the months. The most obvious is that his eyes never stay in one place. Through most of the afternoon, he's had a look of thunderous concentration on his face. He's been as stolid as a soldier.

Not so, now.

Pegasus is just getting ready to step over to the table and ask the poor boy what's bothering him when Yugi clears his throat—signaling for silence—and begins to speak.

He says, apocalyptically: "They hold magic in their hands."

Seto screws up his face, eyes his friend, and takes in a steadying breath, before adding: "These warriors from afar."

Dan quirks an eyebrow at Pegasus.

Pegasus shrugs.

It's Yugi's turn to speak again, as he says: "They cross these lands."

"Past seas and sands."

"Wherever the monstrous things are."

The entire shop is dead quiet. All eyes are on these two, tiny combatants. Aside from little Mokuba, they are by far the youngest in attendance. They have earned a reputation today. Their thirty compatriots have all silently agreed to offer up their undivided attention.

Now, it's Seto's turn to begin. Voice gaining in volume and some species of confidence, he recites: "Wizard, is the mantle they wear."

"With spells, they summon their fuel," Yugi replies.

"Whether here."

"Or else there."

"In whatever affair."

"There's only one option."

The boys stand up, grinning as they slam their cards onto the table.

As one, they finish weaving their magic:

"_**DUEL**_!"

* * *

_**.**_

* * *

_**There's a bit of poetry that precedes each duel in the opening season of the franchise's latest spin-off, ARC-V, and that's what inspired this bit of social theater. Yugi and Seto are young, here. Their imaginations are in hyper-drive, and their inhibitions — well, Yugi's — haven't quite caught up.**_

_**I wanted to show their excitement for the game they're playing, as well as a simple fact that often gets overlooked in discussions of the canon storylines:**_

_**They're dorks.**_

_**Yugi Mutou and Seto Kaiba (Yagami) are freaking dorks.**_

_**Far from sweeping that under the rug, I intend to celebrate it. Especially since, in this timeline, they're not even out of grade school.**_


	28. A Contract in the Dark

_**Some duels happen here. I don't go into too much detail, because that's kind of how I intend to approach dueling in general. I don't want to make things drag too long, and I don't know the game well enough to be particularly intricate with specific moves and chains, anyway.**_

_**It should be noted that, again, I'm using the PlayStation 4 game, "Legacy of the Duelist," to plot out my duels. So I'll be referencing cards from sets that technically aren't around yet in the current timeline of the story.**_

_**I beg that this be ignored. Call it suspension of disbelief. This game is the main reason I'm able to write duels at all. Without it, I'd be floundering in an ocean, barely able to float.**_

_**But anyway.**_

_**Let's get down to the fun stuff, huh?**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

The first person to applaud isn't Pegasus, or Dan, or Natsumi or Sugoroku.

It's Ellie McAllister.

A gentle wave of affirmation spreads across the crowd as they clap—a couple of the older duelists let out piercing whistles—and two types of surprise visit the performers. Yugi looks delighted. His eyes sparkle, he looks ready to jump up and down and offer a jaunty bow. He sits down at the table with a little shoulder-and-hip dance.

Seto looks more like a wild animal being treated gently for the first time.

For his part, Pegasus no longer has to fight to keep the smile on his face. It takes every sliver of self-control he has to not sweep over to the table and lift up both of these wonderful, beautiful, perfect little angels and spin them around over his head. His entire being, from the tips of his fingers to the depths of his spirit, is shaking.

He can scarcely breathe.

"Remarkable," Dan murmurs, low enough that only Pegasus can hear him. "Look at him. Look what he's become. In so short a time." He shakes his head, grinning, and claps Pegasus on the shoulder. "You might just be onto something with this game, here, Mister Crawford. You might just."

Yugi wins the first game of rock-paper-scissors, and chooses to let Seto take the first turn.

"So," Dan says, still soft enough to barely be heard, "I've seen this game played, but I'm not sure I understand it. What's happening here?" He gestures.

Seto slams a card down on the table. "_**Blazing Inpachi**_! Attack mode!"

"Well," Pegasus begins, holding out his hands as though he intends to force an image into reality by sheer force of will. "As you may have caught, the players are called duelists. An individual game is a duel, and what we have here? A three-duel _match_."

"Right. Okay." Dan nods. "That much, I follow."

"Think of a duelist as a field general. Or, if we were going to summon up the name of the game itself? A wizard. _The mantle they wear_." Pegasus grins as his eye flashes to the two boys. "In general, there are three types of cards." He ticks off his fingers. "Trap cards. Magic cards. And monster cards. The duelist—wizard—uses magic and traps to shape the battlefield. To back up and strengthen their soldiers. Which is to say, their monsters."

"So," Dan is clicking a fingernail against his chin, "the key is to whittle down the duelist. Take out the leader, and the foot soldiers scatter. Cut the head off the snake."

"Precisely!" Pegasus nods enthusiastically.

"So . . . summon? Set? What's the deal there?"

"Setting a monster means putting it in a defensive position. The creature is lying in wait. Ready to spring. See how Yugi has a horizontal card there? If Seto wants to know what that _is_, he's going to have to have one of _his _monsters rush in blindly. The attack and defense values of each monster card come into play here. So, if Yugi has a highly effective shield in play here, and Seto's attack is too weak? _Seto _takes the hit for it."

"Hnh. I see."

"Whoops!" Yugi calls out, laughing, as Seto calls out just such an attack with his burning wood spirit. "_**Dice Jar**_!" He flicks a six-sided die across the table, which Seto catches with dexterous ease.

"So . . . what just happened there?"

"An _effect _monster." Pegasus holds up a finger. "A soldier with a nasty little trick up their sleeve. In this case, Seto's attack has activated the effect: both duelists roll a six-sided die. The one with the lower result takes damage."

Seto looks relieved. "Five," he says.

Yugi flashes a grin that would make a shark blush. "Six."

Seto goes pale. ". . . Crap."

"Looks like _that _worked out," Dan says.

"So it did."

The duel ends quickly, with a victory for Yugi. As he and Seto pile their cards together and shuffle them in preparation for the next fight, Pegasus goes over various other nuances of his company's flagship product.

He weaves an intricate picture of an otherworldly war between monstrously powerful spell-casters—the sort that would feel right at home in Middle-earth. He offers up a soliloquy on tribute monsters: soldiers making a thrilling sacrifice play to ready the field for their chief lieutenants.

When Seto almost shouts that he's sacrificing his _**Dragon Dwelling in the Cave **_and his _**Nin-Ken Dog **_to summon the avatar of his soul, Dan looks for all the world like he can actually see it.

Seto sets his new monster on the table with the grim conviction of a zealot on crusade.

A hush settles over the crowd. "Is that . . . ?"

"Holy shit, it _is_!"

"Hey! Watch it, man. They're kids. Language?"

"Dude, shut the hell up! That's a _**Blue-Eyes White Dragon**_!"

"There's only _four _of those!"

Dan eyes Pegasus suspiciously. "You gave him that."

"Who's to say from whence the pebbles of fate land at one's feet?"

"Uh-huh. Right."

Seto's nerves seem to have settled. The awe of his peers, the fresh apprehension on Yugi's face, the first appearance of his prized dragon at a public venue; it all seems to have coalesced into honest confidence. His eyes are bright. His grin is easy.

He's in his element.

"Take care, little one," Pegasus murmurs. "The day's not won."

Yugi draws. Holds up his new card. He looks apologetic.

"Ritual summon," he says solemnly. "It's the _**End of the World**_. And with it, comes the royal house. I sacrifice my _**Ritual Raven**_ to summon the King of Armageddon."

Pegasus hisses in a breath.

It's impossible to tell whether the look that flashes across Seto's face—which is gone almost as soon as it's there—is one of devastation or hatred.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

"I feel like I lost track of something. Seto's told me about that dragon of his. Highest attack power in the game. Right? So . . . what gives? Why's he look like someone just shot his puppy?"

"Monsters summoned by ritual, like Yugi's, there, have . . . special abilities. _**Demise, King of Armageddon **_is a particularly devastating case in point. He can destroy all monsters on the field, other than himself, in one stroke."

"No matter how strong they are?"

"No matter.

Yugi leans back in his seat. "My turn is over."

Seto blinks. ". . . What?"

"You heard me," Yugi says. He looks supremely confident. "The king's effect is too risky right now. It's your turn."

Seto looks suspicious, inching toward angry.

"I've watched young Master Mutou throughout this tournament. His deck is comprised of a fair amount of triples," Pegasus murmurs. "Barring certain exceptions, there can be up to three copies of a given card in a duelist's arsenal."

"Yugi has multiple copies of this ritual thing?" Dan asks.

"Indeed. He's taking a grave risk here. Coming back from certain defeat to prove a point. He's giving Seto a chance to wrest his way out of this predicament, only to trap him in it again."

"Psych him out," Dan guesses. "Shake his confidence."

"Precisely." Pegasus is studying Seto's face. "However . . . I'm not so sure that's a good idea with this one. Yugi doesn't have the measure of his friend just yet, I don't think."

"I think I'm gonna have to agree with you on that."

Seto grits his teeth. Draws.

Reaches over to the small pile of cards in his graveyard. He shows them to Yugi. "I have two _**Dragons Dwelling in the Cave **_and one _**Nin-Ken Dog**_. Exactly three normal monsters. I remove my dragons from play to special summon my _**Knight of the Red Lotus**_!"

Yugi's swaggering confidence wavers.

Seto flips a magic card. "_**Double Summon**_!" Then he slams a card from his hand onto the table. "_**Copycat**_! This monster takes the original attack and defense of your king for its own!" He plucks another card from his hand. "And for my second normal summon this turn? _**Armored Bee**_!"

Yugi's swaggering confidence is gone.

"Your king's attack power is halved for this turn!" Seto snarls. "This duel is mine! _**BATTLE**_!"

Yugi's mouth hangs open, as the crowd _erupts_.

"Don't underestimate me, Yugi," Seto says imperially, after the cheering dies down and they gather their cards for the final shuffle of the day. "I don't appreciate it."

Yugi clears his throat, draws in a deep breath.

". . . Sorry about that. Won't happen again."

Seto smirks. "Good."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Mokuba is settled against Ellie's hip, and makes a grabbing motion with one hand that might constitute a wave. Pegasus smiles as they approach, and offers a slight bow in return.

"Nii'tama! _Win_!"

"Yes, he did," Pegasus agrees. Dan ruffles Mokuba's hair. "Quite decisively. One more game, and we'll see who wins the whole pot." He turns his eye to Ellie. "And how does being a spectator to my little game suit you, my lady?"

Ellie's smirk has a hard edge to it, but it seems good-natured enough. "Let's just say those two are doin' you a favor with the advertising," she says, gesturing with a nod of her head to Seto and Yugi. "Just don't go thinking I'm gonna slap down the cash in my pocket for some of them packs to _undergo my own journey_, huh? I did my part to further the cause today." She knocks the side of Mokuba's head gently with her own temple. "You're diggin' this, aren't you, pipsqueak?"

Mokuba puts on a serious face. "Nii'tama _best_. Nii'tama win toor-ment."

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah. He's golden."

Pegasus thinks, _Torment_?

He curses the shiver that runs down his spine, resolves to ignore it.

"Battle!" Yugi cries out, jabbing a finger at Seto, who flips over a _**Dragon Dwelling in the Cave**_—quickly becoming a signature card for him—and the crowd offers an "Ooh" of sympathy. Yugi groans through clenched teeth and snaps his fingers.

"_Dragon_," Mokuba says. Then he lets out a breathy sort of sound from deep in his throat; a quiet roar. He holds up his hands like claws for good measure.

"That's indeed true, little warrior," Pegasus replies. His smile almost feels natural again. "Your Niisama has a lot of dragons in his fledgling army." Then he frowns. "Budding militia? Newfangled legion!" Mokuba giggles. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

Mokuba blinks, still smiling, and doesn't respond.

"_**Swords of Concealing Light**_!" Seto calls out, and again the spectators let out a murmur of approval.

"Seto seems to have the edge again," Dan says. "Confidence boost, maybe?"

"He knows what he's doin'," Ellie offers up. Her eyes are glittering. "Mutou kid's still on edge. He's had to change up his strategy, what with the lashing he just got. But Yagami's been on his A-game since the start of this thing." She looks at her elders with a surety that borders on contempt. "Yagami don't fuck around. If he doesn't put everything on the table, he doesn't deserve to win. That's what's rattling around in his head-case right now. I'd betcha money."

Dan frowns, like perhaps he's skeptical, but Pegasus ruminates for some time on this. He eventually nods. "I think you're right, Miss McAllister. Seto takes games quite seriously."

"Takes _life _seriously. S'what happens when you get kicked onto the street. No offense, there, Director Man, but nobody would mistake our little corner o' the world for a luxury resort."

Dan chuckles. "No, no, of course. You're right. Hard lives build hard people."

Mokuba grunts and points at his brother, drawing attention back to the game. He seems offended that these adults he's surrounded by aren't as enthralled with his Nii'tama's performance as he is. Even though Mokuba hasn't the faintest idea what Seto is _doing_, he knows that it's important.

"I didn't want to have to bring this out," Yugi says into a sudden silence. He looks around, and his gaze settles on Sugoroku. "It's a special card. I didn't want you to know about it. I figured it would be useful if I kept this little guy in my back pocket."

Seto crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

"But you're not the kind of opponent I can pull punches with, are you?" Yugi grins. He suddenly looks older than his years. There's something dancing in his eyes, and it's impossible to identify. Something secret, something unspoken.

Something . . . dark.

Pegasus's visible eye narrows. "What . . . are you hiding, Mister Mutou . . . ?"

He isn't sure if he's talking to Yugi or his grandfather.

Sugoroku nods, as if giving permission.

"I play _**Contract with the Dark Master**_," Yugi says. "In place of regular old sacrifices, I can banish _**Djinn Disserere of Rituals**_, _**Djinn Releaser of Rituals**_, and _**Djinn Presider of Rituals **_from my graveyard."

Pegasus's mouth opens. "What? Contract with . . . ?"

Seto scowls. "Eight levels," he says. "What are you summoning, then?"

Yugi chuckles. His next words will echo in Pegasus Crawford's nightmares for the rest of his life:

"_**I summon the Dark Master, Zorc**_."

The last, icy thought Pegasus has before transcendent pain lances through his left eye and, mercifully, renders him unconscious, is:

_Who in the __**hell**__ made those __cards_?!


	29. The Threat Posed by Truth

_**The biggest thing that Gozaburo teaches Seto in the manga and anime is that losing is unacceptable. Losers deserve to die. You have to win, you have to conquer, or your existence is useless.**_

_**There are a lot of things Seto Kaiba had to fight through to make it out of his childhood alive. But that idea, that core belief, is one of the most insidious. It informs his behavior through the entire story.**_

_**And it's one of the main things this story seeks to rectify.**_

_**To reverse.**_

_**To erase.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Before he opens his eye, Pegasus Jareth Crawford takes stock of several things he knows to be truths: he is lying on cushions. That is one truth. His head is throbbing with the remains of a headache. That is another truth. A talk show is playing on a television to his left. A third truth.

_I painted and printed every __**Magic &amp; Wizards **__card in existence_.

That is a—

Pegasus's breath catches in his throat, and he finds himself staring at the Mutous' off-white ceiling like it's a portal to another dimension. Like he'll find answers there. Like, if he just stares hard enough, everything will make sense again. Where is it? The answer must be _somewhere _in the nooks and cracks of the plaster up there. It has to be . . . has to be . . .

Something snags at his peripheral vision, and he turns his head.

Seto is kneeling next to what turns out to be the couch in the Mutous' living room. He looks like an acolyte at prayer. His blue eyes are too bright. Pegasus clears his throat, causing the boy to flinch violently, before he maneuvers a hand to pat Seto's cheek.

"Had you scared, there, did I?" he asks, attempting to sound nonchalant and probably failing. "Apologies. It seems I . . . haven't been taking good enough care of myself lately."

Pegasus forces himself to a sitting position, even though he isn't sure he should, and rubs the back of his neck. Seto rises to his feet and shuffles over, looking anxious and close to tears.

"Are . . . are you . . . f-feeling okay?"

Whose voice is that? Surely that can't be Seto Yagami's. So hesitant. So frail. So . . . _scared_. But then . . . of course, why _wouldn't _he be those things? Who _else _fell suddenly ill, and never came back? Who _else _ignored the pain, the exhaustion, the infinitude of warning signs, and paid for it—terminally?

Pegasus clenches his teeth and bends his thoughts into submission.

No. That will not happen again. He will not be another tragedy.

"I'll be fine," Pegasus says with fatal determination. "I haven't been sleeping well. I suppose that, combined with . . ."

His voice trails off.

Pegasus realizes that he's building a lie. Carefully constructing a ruse that, of course, Seto will be expected to believe. Because that's what you _do _when you can't talk about the true source of something twisting in your guts. It's what the alcoholic does when explaining away his bloodshot eyes. It's what the addict does when explaining away the constant running of his nose.

Can Pegasus do such a thing to this boy?

. . . But then, the truth is dangerous. Isn't it? Yes. Of course it is. The truth is a swirling darkness hiding in the back of his intuition, waiting to strike. The truth is a maw of daggers clamped against his throat. Eyes like slits in reality itself, revealing the blood-red expanses of horrific, torturous eternities.

_The Dark Master_. _Zorc_.

_**Zorc**_.

"Something is . . . strange about this, dear boy. And if you're going to join me on this journey I've chosen to undertake in this life, it wouldn't do for me to keep you in the dark. I'm sorry. I . . . thought to deceive you. Not so smart of me." Pegasus sighs as he adjusts himself, shifting his clothing around until it sits right again. "Where is Mister Mutou? I need to speak with him."

"Y-Yugi?" Seto asks. "Or . . . ?"

"Yugi _and _his esteemed grandfather, actually."

"I'll . . . I'll go get them!"

And Seto is off, jetting across the room and disappearing down the stairs, down into the shop proper, before Pegasus can even _think _to protest.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

The Mutous' living room is, moments later, filled with faces. Ellie, having bequeathed young Mokuba to his brother, stands off to one side. Her face is unreadable. Yugi looks nervous—thinking, perhaps, that _he _is responsible for Pegasus's predicament—and keeps fidgeting. He inches closer and closer to his grandfather with each not-so-subtle shift of his weight.

Sugoroku has his hands in the pockets of his coveralls. "What is it you needed to say, Mister Crawford?"

Pegasus leans down, and his hair covers his face. He says, without looking at anyone: "That card. _**Zorc**_. Where did you come by such a monster? Was it in a booster pack?"

Now, he looks up.

Sugoroku quirks an eyebrow. "A . . . promotional package, actually. Yugi and I built that deck together. Why do you ask?"

"I'll get to that." Pegasus waves a hand. "When did you receive this package? Do you remember?"

". . . No," Sugoroku admits. "Some months ago, I believe. I don't recall the exact da—"

"September 14th," Yugi says suddenly.

Pegasus blinks. "You're sure about that, Yugi? _Absolutely _sure?"

Yugi nods decisively. "Yeah. I remember, 'cuz there was a letter that came with all the cards. I was excited. It was . . . the letter was . . . from you. So I . . . kinda . . . kept it."

"September . . ."

"That's the day we met," Seto says suddenly. His face is drawn. Worried. But there's steel in his eyes. He's looking at Pegasus. Looking _through _Pegasus. "September 14th. I remember."

Pegasus nods. "I was . . . thinking the same thing. I do apologize, Yugi, but . . . I sent no such package to you. I don't know what any of this might mean, but . . . I did not write a letter, nor put together a set of cards for this shop, nor did I paint the artwork for that monster _or _its ritual."

Sugoroku looks dumbfounded. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mister Crawford, but did you not paint _every _card?"

Pegasus twists his face into something resembling amusement. "You see, now, my confusion. I apologize for the spectacle I must have caused, but my fluctuating physical health is hardly my concern at the moment. Someone at my company is using my name, and my game, for some purpose I cannot begin to fathom."

Mokuba, huddled against Seto, murmurs Pegasus's name.

All at once, Pegasus is tempted to show them. Sugoroku Mutou, a retired archaeologist, would have _some _idea. Wouldn't he? Or _would _he? These questions and a hundred more rattle around in the cage of Pegasus's skull. If he could . . . just . . . _confide _in someone. Someone who might _know _what this . . .

This power. This drunken superiority. This glimpse into that unfathomable _otherness _that might be Heaven, but might just as well be Hell. And that name.

_That name_.

Why does he know that name? Why does this "dark master," whatever it is, feel so uncomfortably familiar? Why does something sing in his blood whenever he thinks about that one, harsh syllable?

And why _shouldn't _he tell them? Why has he been hiding for so long? He looks up, through his hair, at the children he hopes to call his own. How can he sit here, calling himself their father, if . . . if . . .

Tears are falling silently down Seto's face.

The air feels suddenly thick in Pegasus's throat. No. He cannot share this burden. Not yet. Perhaps not _ever_. Look, he tells himself, at what it's already done. Look at its footprints, stamping over the lustrous garden of this day that should have been such a beautiful memory?

He looks up, almost without thinking, and isn't surprised at what he finds in a far corner of the room.

Yuki Yagami stares into his soul. Again.

"Is it not ironic," she asks, in a voice like needles, "that you just resolved not to lie to him . . . and here you are, lying again? How long has it been? Four minutes? Impressive."

_I know_, Pegasus thinks, his heart breaking, _but this is a name that should never be spoken aloud. Surely you know that. Would you have me impose upon him the truth_? _The whole truth_? _Has your whole motive not been to __**alleviate **__his suffering_? _What would you have me do_?

Yuki doesn't answer.

Pegasus actually chuckles. Of course.

He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair. It's clumped with sweat, and must look an absolute mess.

"Would it be within the realm of propriety for me to ask for a bit of privacy?" he asks of Sugoroku. "I'd like to . . . talk to Seto and Mokuba for a moment."

Sugoroku looks confused, but shrugs. "Of course. Come along, you two," he says to Yugi and Ellie.

Yugi snaps to attention, and immediately heads for the stairs.

Ellie lingers for a moment, eyeing Pegasus suspiciously, before following.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

"There's something on your mind, Seto."

Seto sniffs, averts his eyes, and mumbles something into his brother's hair. He holds Mokuba close, cradles him. Mokuba doesn't seem to understand what's going on—at his age, who could fault him?—but he knows Nii'tama is upset. So he sits there, huddled in Seto's arms, and clings to him.

Pegasus leans forward. Clasps his hands between his knees. Waits.

". . . I lost."

Pegasus blinks. "You . . . lo—" The word chokes off, before he can ask. "The final duel." Seto nods miserably, sniffles again, chokes back a sob. "Oh." Pegasus shifts his weight. "Oh, Seto, you . . ."

_**You couldn't have hoped to defeat that thing even if you'd had ten years to prepare**._

Wha—

Pegasus shakes his head, jerking from one side to the other. What sort of superstitious drivel is that? He shakes the malaise of fear from his shoulders and resolves to bury it. This is not the time to quiver. This is not the time to hide.

He wants to call himself a parent. It's time to act like one.

"Seto," he says. "I . . . I'd like you to look at me. Please."

Seto does so, slowly. So slowly.

"This is the part of the day when I'm supposed to tell you that winning isn't everything. That what matters is that you had fun, that you did your best. It would be nice if that worked, if hearing it were enough. Certainly things would be easier on everyone." Pegasus sighs. "But life isn't interested in handing us easy answers, is it?"

". . . I just . . . I wanted . . . I wanted to . . . to show you . . ."

But Seto can't finish.

Mokuba snuggles against Seto's chest and whispers something that only the two of them can hear.

"What you've shown, to me and to everyone who was watching you down there, is your mastery. Make no mistake about _that_." Pegasus lets silence accentuate this for a moment. "This culture of ours . . . it romanticizes victory. Deifies it. To win is the apotheosis of life itself. And to lose is the central tenet of ultimate failure."

Silence.

Pegasus actually chuckles to himself, as he lowers his gaze and stares at the floor.

"It's bullshit."

Mokuba gasps. Pegasus can sense Seto's sudden tension.

"Here is what will happen, because of today. You will take up the cards you've won, examine them, and build up a new arsenal. And when the time comes again for you to face an opponent in the arena, you will have a whole new reason to stand there. A person learns more from a single loss than from a lifetime of victories. May I tell you, Seto Yagami, how this society has failed you?"

Seto looks confused. Apprehensive.

But more than that, he looks desperate.

"It's told you that you have to earn your place. That your happiness comes from hard work, and nothing else. That good fortune will only come your way once you prove yourself worthy of it." Pegasus stands, then kneels, and puts one hand on Seto's shoulder. The other presses against Mokuba's back. "You don't have to _earn_ the right to live. You don't have to prove yourself _worthy_ of what you have."

Seto licks at his lips, and doesn't answer.

"And even if you _do_, even if I'm completely wrong and the pressures placed on you are true and right and worth listening to—even if you _do _have to earn your happiness—haven't you? Isn't it about time you have the peace that you've been yearning for? Haven't you borne this burden long enough?"

". . . How much of this do you believe, and how much are you saying just to make me feel better? "

Pegasus smiles. "I believe everything I have ever said to you, Seto Yagami. From now, to the ends of eternity, you can rest easy knowing that whatever words I say to you . . . they are as true as I know how to make them."

The ghost of a smile finally graces Seto's face. "I guess . . . I guess it's silly. Getting all worked up. It's just a regional tournament."

"Silly? Not at all. I ask you this: who among the two of us made his fellow duelists cheer and applaud and have a grand old time? And who, among the two of us, fainted in the middle of a public venue and generally made a fool out of himself?"

The smile comes full force. ". . . Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be right as rain, as the cliché has it." Pegasus jabs a finger against Mokuba's side. "And as for _you_, little warrior. I have a very important job for you. Hm? I'm to be your father. You have to listen to me."

Mokuba blinks, and looks confused.

"If I get hurt, or sick, or do any of those silly things I did today . . . you have to look after your Niisama for me. Understand? Niisama does a whole lot for us, doesn't he?"

Mokuba nods. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

"We have to make sure _he's _okay, too. Don't we?"

". . . Yeah."

"That's right. We're a family now. Soon, it will be official. We have to look out for each other, don't we?"

"_Yeah_."

Pegasus chuckles as he ruffles Mokuba's hair. "That's the ticket. Now, then. I have to go see about fixing the mess I must have made of this tournament. And I do believe _you _have some booster packs to pick out, young man."

Seto nods. "Yes, sir."

"Sir, he says. Come along, you two. Let's get to it."


	30. Hush-a-Bye, Baby

_**This chapter — and, to be honest, the entire piece — is dedicated to a very special friend of mine, without whose insight and enthusiasm I would never have figured out just what I wanted out of this AU scenario. I consider this story my best work, and fully intend for it to be the biggest, most ambitious, most important contribution I ever make to the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom.**_

_**Thank you for everything, Shadow. I will never have words for what this means to me. What you mean to me.**_

_**But for the moment, I have about 2,800 of them with which I intend to try.**_

_**This one's for you.**_

_**Happy birthday.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

"The strangest thing," Sugoroku Mutou muses, more than a week after the tournament, the next time Pegasus and the Yagamis come to visit, "is that . . . while powerful, this card is hardly the sort one would expect out of a forgery." He waves the _**Dark Master — Zorc **_card in one hand, like he's trying to put out a match. "It's a bit of a gamble, honestly. A good trump card, to be sure, but hardly unbeatable."

"I've been wondering that, myself," Pegasus says, though this isn't strictly true. He has a sneaking suspicion that the motive for this monstrous ritual's existence is far more insidious than a tactical advantage, small _or _large, at the gaming table.

Pegasus's dark thoughts are interrupted when Mokuba—who has been sitting on his knee for the past half hour—bats at his arm. He's found another piece of artwork hidden in the confines of _**Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone**_.

"Oh. Look at that. How scandalous." Pegasus taps at his chin. "What do you think? Are there any more?" Mokuba moves his shoulders in a comical exaggeration of a shrug. "You'd better take a look. We don't want to be caught by surprise, now, do we?"

Mokuba's eyes go wide, and he dutifully hunches over the mysterious volume in his hands to continue his perusal.

Seto and Yugi are still going over the cards they won the previous week. They've been categorizing and studying ever since the tournament ended. Every so often, Seto will take a card from one of his various piles, study it for a moment, then set it on Yugi's side of the table. Yugi will, invariably, do the same a moment later.

And so it goes.

"The artist, whoever it is," Sugoroku says, still looking at the _**Zorc **_card like it's some ancient artifact—_Is it_?—he wants to study, "certainly did an admirable job. It looks perfectly in line with your work."

Pegasus grimaces for a moment before schooling his face back to a neutral expression. "True enough," he admits eventually. "I might have gone months, _years_, without noticing. If not for . . ."

"Happenstance?" Sugoroku offers.

"I was going to say _providence_, but then I've always been a bit fanciful."

Croquet, standing sentinel near the entrance, snorts with sudden laughter that he attempts to hide by coughing. Pegasus shoots the man a glare, but it doesn't last. His attention invariably returns inward.

"I haven't seen Miss Gardner around lately," Pegasus says suddenly.

"She's been staying with her father, I believe," Sugoroku replies without preamble. "It's been some time."

Pegasus starts to ask about _Yugi's _father, a mysterious entity who doesn't seem to exist, before deciding against it. Best not to pry. He almost chokes on his tongue, again struck by the irony of his sudden sense of honor when it comes to others' privacy, but he wonders if it might not be any big deal.

_Does it matter how often or how little I use it_, he asks himself, _so long as I remember my mission_?

The answer to that question is elusive. It's right at the tip of his tongue, skirting his instincts. He decides to shelve the idea for now. He has more important questions to answer.

". . . Sometimes I wonder," Pegasus says next, without fully realizing that he's talking out loud, "what their parents would think of the job I'm . . . trying to do." He glances down at Mokuba as he says this. Mokuba, for his part, has no input on the discussion. He's too busy staring thunderously at words he can't read. "Am I fit for this? Am I _ready _for this? It's a continuous refrain in the back of my mind. My house staff, certain parties potentially excluded," he gestures to Croquet, "remain ravenously unconvinced."

Sugoroku smiles. "That you're even asking yourself these questions is a fair enough sign of good tidings," he says. "What's the phrase? 'Intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.' I'd be more concerned if you were more cocksure."

But, _isn't _he?

"_Aren't _I?"

"Not from my perspective, Mister Crawford. Not at all. Children are . . . well. Not _fragile_. But certainly impressionable. You've done quite admirably in remembering that. Don't think I haven't seen just how many doubts you've hidden behind that sparkling smile of yours."

Pegasus eyes his impromptu therapist with some chagrin.

Sugoroku winks at him. "That's parenting. You hear that, little one?" He pokes at Mokuba's shoulder. The younger Yagami blinks, looks up, and tilts his head to one side. He looks like a curious bird.

Pegasus remembers Halloween, and chuckles.

"Remember," Sugoroku says, "sometimes grown-ups know what they're doing. Sometimes they don't. It's a tough job, sometimes, being around grown-ups."

"Nii'tama growned up."

Sugoroku laughs. "That's _just_ so."

"So."

The old man winks again. "I wouldn't worry too much."

Pegasus thinks about a certain specter, with black hair and violet eyes, and worries too much anyway.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Without any prompting other than a glance, Seto knows that the stranger who steps into the Turtle Game Shop later that day—pushing a quaint little baby stroller—is an academic. He just has the look. He's of an age with Yugi's grandfather, perhaps a bit older but not by much. Next to Sugoroku's homespun, mom-and-pop wholesomeness, this visitor doesn't necessarily look _intimidating_, but he doesn't exactly look like he belongs.

He seems cut from the same caste as Pegasus Crawford, actually, in his simple, careworn, but obviously well-tailored suit. Seto imagines this man at a charity gala for abandoned animals, and it isn't hard to picture him handing over the largest donation of the evening and getting a gold-plated plaque for the effort. The sort of thing that would get attached to a park bench, maybe.

Customers have been few and far between today—it's Sunday, and most of the regulars are either at church or scrambling to finish homework—so aside from a couple of mainstays in the back corner, it's just Yugi, Seto, and Mokuba.

Yugi puts on his jaw-popping grin. "Professor Hawkins!"

The man smiles, and it transforms him. All at once, the aura of authority Seto sensed before is gone, replaced by a warmth that surprises him. He can't exactly _see_ Professor Hawkins's smile very clearly, but the general impression of his bushy mustache shows that he's beaming.

The professor kneels down to receive Yugi, who barrels into him. Seto wonders if maybe this man is his friend's other grandfather?

"Yugi, how good to see you again," says Professor Hawkins, ruffling Yugi's mess of black hair. "How are you doing, dear boy?"

"I'm fine! I got 86 percent on my last math test!"

"_Did _you, truly? My, but you're improving. Excellent. _Excellent_." Professor Hawkins chuckles.

Yugi must know the man well. If not family, then a longstanding family friend. Seto can feel himself descending, swirling, folding into that old isolation that he's used as a coping mechanism for years now. Pegasus is gone by the time the professor arrives—an emergency at Industrial Illusions has called him away—and somehow, without his new guardian around, it's next to impossible for Seto to be social.

Seto has managed, so far, to keep up conversation with Yugi. But most people, particularly adults, are still a completely foreign operation. So much so that he's surprised—indeed, he's _scandalized_—when Yugi turns and gestures to him, thereby forcing him into the situation. "This is my friend, Seto," Yugi says, with a hint of dejection. "_He_ got 110 percent."

This is true, but Seto still can't fathom why Yugi might _say_ it. Why should this man he's never met care about Seto's test scores?

Professor Hawkins, still kneeling, settles onto his back leg and blinks. "Oh, my. Extra credit, is it?" Yugi nods emphatically. "Above and beyond the call of duty." That beaming smile comes back. "Wonderful. Just _wonderful_." He stands smoothly, betraying that he probably doesn't have the back problems that Sugoroku so obviously does—though that never stops the Turtle's proprietor from pretending he doesn't. He steps forward, bows his head, and holds out a hand. "Arthur Hawkins," he says, "at your service."

Seto takes the offered hand. "Seto Yagami." He turns, instinctively. "This is my brother, Mokuba."

"'Lo," Mokuba offers, shuffling behind Seto's leg.

"A pleasure to meet you both." Arthur offers his hand to Mokuba next, who seems to only vaguely remember being taught this procedure before. "Quite the talent with numbers, hm?" Seto nods, but hesitantly. "After my own heart. Dalila used to say that I _danced_ with them." Arthur says this last with a wistful look, then he returns to himself a moment later.

"Seto's a real life _genius_," Yugi says, with no small measure of pride. "He gets the best grades in our whole class."

Seto's face goes red, and he averts his eyes. "Yugi, don't . . . it's not . . ."

"Now, now," comes a new voice, a booming voice, as Sugoroku Mutou _announces_ into the room. "Arthur, I do hope you're not scaring away my customers! I've worked quite hard for my regulars, thank you very much!"

Mokuba murmurs "Gam'paw" under his breath, and his grip on the hem of Seto's shirt loosens just a bit. Seto turns, equally relieved but less willing to reveal it, and watches as Yugi's grandfather practically bounces across the storefront to embrace the professor.

"Perish the thought, Sugoroku," says Arthur, with a chuckle. His pronunciation of the man's name is much more polished than Seto might have expected; the "foreignness" of Japanese names tend to trip people up, in Seto's experience. Arthur returns Sugoroku's embrace without a sliver of hesitation. "It's good to see you."

"I see you've met our new rising stars!" Sugoroku cries out ecstatically, then glances at the stroller standing vigil beside Arthur and lowers his voice. He claps Arthur on the back. "_These_ two champions here were the final combatants in Domino City's _very_ first _**Magic &amp; Wizards**_ regional tournament."

Arthur's eyes widen, and something sparks in them. "_Really_, now?"

"Yes, yes, indeed. But hold on just a moment, what do I spy here?" Sugoroku leans over and glances downward. "Oh. Oh-ho. Oh, _no_. Is that your new fledgling I see there?"

Of all things, Arthur suddenly looks _familiar_ as a new expression visits his weathered face. "Ah. But of course, where are my manners? If I might introduce Rebecca Hawkins. My granddaughter. Forgive her rudeness. It seems the walk out from the parking lot was a bit too much excitement for her."

Seto leans over to see a little baby girl, barely a year old, with a single tail of blonde hair held to one side of her head with a bright blue scrunchie. She's dressed in coveralls, sneakers, and a striped shirt. The colors do not, in _any_ fashion, match. It's almost painful to look at the outfit this girl has probably picked out for herself.

Seto's nerves melt away, and his grin reaches his ears.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Later, Natsumi Mutou will think that it's providence—surely, she will also think, Pegasus Crawford has begun to wear off on her—which has her out on the main floor of the shop just as Rebecca Hawkins starts to cry. At the moment Natsumi arrives, however, all she can think is that it's been so long since she's heard an infant that, for just a moment, she can't remember why the sound is so _familiar_.

Sugoroku and Arthur are talking animatedly about something, and their voices cut off immediately. But they aren't the quickest to react; not by a long shot. Before Arthur even _starts _to move, Seto Yagami has already worked through sixteen different calculations and has instinctively maneuvered himself over to the baby's stroller. Natsumi doesn't know how she knows this; there's just something about the way Seto's eyes flicker every which way whenever he's thinking quickly, and he's thinking _very _quickly right now.

He turns to Arthur; Rebecca is still squalling. "Professor," he says, and the hesitance that Natsumi half-expects to hear in his voice, because he's addressing a man he doesn't know, isn't there; though his tone is respectful bordering on reverent. "May I?"

He holds his hands out, as though he intends to pick up the baby, but stops.

Arthur flicks a glance at Sugoroku, who nods. "Ah . . . certainly. Thank you."

Natsumi has _heard _of Rebecca before. Naturally. She's rather good friends with the girl's parents, after all. This is the first time the youngest member of the Hawkins dynasty has made an appearance in Domino City, however. Natsumi steps out to join her contemporaries and wonders what Seto intends to do. Will he hand her off to her grandfather? This certainly seems the _proper_ way to go about things. Natsumi has been warned that this girl is . . . temperamental, even for an infant. Rebecca isn't likely to take to a stranger.

"We're starting to think Gareth has some form of magic laced into his voice," Adeline Hawkins has said; Rebecca's father is evidently the only one who can properly calm her when she gets into a certain mood.

This all said, Seto does not, in fact, head over to Arthur.

Once he's lifted Rebecca from her stroller, Seto rather expertly settles her against his shoulder and starts talking to her. He doesn't use baby-talk, which isn't honestly surprising, but speaks normally, using the same light, gentle inflection that he does with Mokuba—who is enthralled with this ritual and hasn't taken his big violet eyes off of Seto for the past few minutes.

Not that Mokuba _ever _honestly takes his eyes off of Seto.

"Shhhh-sh-sh-sh . . . it's okay, now . . . everything's okay . . ." Seto's voice has such a lilt that it almost sounds like singing, and Yugi has begun to stare as well. Seto steps slowly along a route that only he can see, pacing about the floor like he's on patrol, or dancing in a stately ballroom.

Natsumi sits at a chair next to her father-in-law and watches the boy work.

Arthur's face is studious, and more than a little surprised, as he does the same. "He knows what he's doing."

"That he does," Natsumi says, which causes Arthur to turn, see her, and smile. "It's good to see you, Arthur."

"Hello, my dear." Arthur quickly turns his attention back to the children. Rebecca has quieted; she's still sniffling, and every once in a while she'll whimper, but it's a far sight from her earlier sermon. ". . . He's done in sixty seconds what usually takes me fifteen minutes. _At least_."

"He's a quick study, that one," Sugoroku says, then gestures to Mokuba. "Plenty of practice."

"Still. If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes . . ." Arthur cuts off, as Rebecca lets out a sudden giggle, ". . . I don't think I'd have believed it."

Seto is definitely dancing now, twirling Rebecca around and around. He has eyes only for the child in his arms, and those eyes are sparkling. He dips smoothly and kneels in front of his brother. "Look here, Mokie," he says. "This is Rebecca."

Mokuba studies the infant in front of him. "Bay-bee," he says eventually.

"That's right. She's a baby. Say hi, Mokie. _Hi_, _there_." He twiddles his fingers near Rebecca's face, causing her to reach out and bat at his hand.

"Hello," Mokuba says, very carefully, and gives a wave of his own.

Rebecca lets out a sound that might be an attempt to reciprocate, then she succumbs to a fit of giggles. Mokuba smiles, looks back at his brother for approval, then reaches out and ruffles Rebecca's hair.

Seto's smile threatens to split his face.

"Remarkable." Arthur lets out a small breath, then chuckles to himself.

Seto seems to suddenly remember himself, where he is and what he's doing, because he stands up, and walks almost sheepishly over to Arthur. He holds Rebecca out to her grandfather, and suddenly his awkwardness is back. "Sorry," he murmurs, eyes downcast.

"Don't be _sorry_, now," Arthur says, chuckling again. Seto blinks. "It was a privilege to witness a young master at work." He settles Rebecca onto one knee. "You have a gift, Seto."

Seto's face twists in confusion, and he looks around at the others. It's like he expects someone else to correct Arthur, and inform this wayward historian that what he's just done is completely natural, something anyone can do. Nothing about this is special. Nothing about _him _is special.

Natsumi feels a piece of her heart break.

"He's right, Seto," she says. "You have a golden touch."

Sugoroku is nodding sagely.

Seto turns to Yugi, the last vestige of _sanity _in this building, only to find that his friend is still staring. ". . . I . . . I just . . . it . . ."

Mokuba bumps into his brother's leg. He points. "Bay-bee." As though Seto has forgotten that Rebecca is here. "Becca."

Seto blinks. Looks down. Looks back around.

". . . Huh."

A smile whispers once again onto Seto's face, and he actually looks pleased with himself.

For once.


	31. RSVP

_**Last year, I managed 6 updates to this particular story. I'm not what one would call proud of that. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm proud of the chapters themselves, and I still believe that this story is my best work — or, at least, it's my personal favorite — but a chapter every 2 months just doesn't sit right with me.**_

_**I think 2017 is gonna have to pick up the pace, on this and a bunch of other projects.**_

_**But for now, I suppose, every journey starts with a first step.**_

* * *

**1.**

* * *

She's sent him a card, every major holiday, ever since he left. Each card always has the same message, writ in her implacable, celestial handwriting.

Pegasus is staring listlessly at the latest one—adorned with an Autumnal landscape of his own design, because she has a strange sense of humor—when Seto opens the front passenger-side door.

They're outside Oakwood Elementary School, halfway into November, and Seto has slowly, but still awkwardly, gotten used to a ride home. He's spent the past few years, ever since his brother was born, walking home every day of every school week. The only thing that's changed is the destination. It's taken him a long time to stop thanking Pegasus two to six times every time he climbs into the Town Car.

This afternoon, Seto doesn't offer up a platitude, but a question: "What's that?"

Before Pegasus can even start working out the implications of answering this seemingly innocent question, he's already answered: "A holiday card." This surprises him so much that he doesn't react, even when he adds: "From my mother."

Aside from vague pleasantries and generalities, Pegasus has never spoken to either of his boys about the progenitors of his name and station. Pegasus hasn't even _seen _his parents in so long that it takes him far longer than it should to remember their faces, their voices, even what their house—the home where he grew up—looks like.

It's only been two years. It's only been—

_**a lifetime**_

—twenty-four months.

Since . . .

"Your mother's a—" Seto stops himself, almost chokes on his own tongue. "She . . . s-sends you . . . cards?"

_He thought she was dead_, Pegasus realizes suddenly. _He thought I was like him. And since I never said otherwise _. . . _but, of course. He's only eleven. His world still only makes sense through his own prism. Everyone is an orphan unless otherwise stated._

This thought is so much sadder than Pegasus initially thought it would be.

"She does," Pegasus eventually forces himself to say. "I don't see them very often. My parents." He feels guilty all of a sudden, like he's admitting some kind of drug habit. "My mother sends me cards so that I . . . remember I have a home to come back to." He sighs. Chokes back the anger rising up in his throat like bile. Reminds himself that Seto has enough burdens to bear. His new guardian's grievances should not become part of them.

Pegasus hands over his prize, because there's no point in keeping it from the poor boy. Seto Yagami is so starved for anything resembling a family that he's already attached to his new grandmother, even though she isn't his grandmother yet.

Seto holds the card reverently. Opens it.

He reads, softly: "If every person were like me, what kind of world would this be?"

Pegasus finds a smile. "Mother dearest's personal creed."

He steals a glance and finds Seto's face to be a goldmine of emotions. Most of them, Pegasus is sure, are conflicted. But ultimately, Seto seems touched. Impressed. Not awestruck, exactly, but something in the general _vicinity_ _of _awe, just the same. Seto has, for the most part, sworn off adults entirely. He doesn't trust them.

And who can blame him?

But it would seem that Toiréasa Crawford has passed some quiet test already, just with a few lines of script she picked up at a church somewhere.

Pegasus draws in a breath. He's already jumped _this _far in. He may as well start swimming. So, as he pulls away from the curb and heads for the Domino Children's Home, he says: "These cards are a quiet invitation to . . . catch up. To come back home."

Seto's entire being goes stone-still.

Given that he can only honestly "see" out of his right eye anymore, Pegasus has gotten used to studying his peripheral vision with an almost manic intensity. He can see, even as he keeps his attention on the road, the request hanging on this little orphan's lips.

The smile slips from Pegasus's face, then comes back.

"Is she . . . are your . . . parents . . . having a holiday dinner?"

It isn't long until Thanksgiving. One of the more . . . awkward traditions in the Crawford family. But Pegasus supposes that his personal distaste for his extended family doesn't have a place here. Not right now. Not while Seto is still so vulnerable.

_This is_, Pegasus thinks, knowing he's being entirely too dramatic about it, _what it means to be a father_.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm certain that they are." He pauses for a moment, waits for a traffic light as an excuse to steal a glance, and adds: "If I were to accept my dear matron's invitation, would you care to join me?"

Seto _eeps_. It's a quiet little sound, barely more than a sharp intake of breath, but it's enough.

Pegasus is already ticking off the innumerable things he's going to have to do, say, admit, to his parents in order to make this work, as he switches his soft little smile to a full grin and says: "I'll take that as a yes. I wonder. Do you think Mokuba will accept, too? Oh, but I'm sure he has a previous engagement, already."

Seto smirks. "Yeah. I bet he does. Maybe I can convince Mokie to move his schedule around."

"You'd _do _that for me?" Pegasus turns his attention back to the road. "Such a generous offer. Well! It looks like I have a phone call to make."

"Do you think . . . do you think they'll . . . mind?"

"Hm?" Truthfully, he's already wondering just how large a fit his lord father is going to throw over this. "Oh, don't you worry about that. No, no, no. This is a family affair! That means the family is invited." Pause, either for dramatic effect or for Pegasus to convince himself that he believes the words coming out of his mouth right now.

He isn't sure if he's succeeding on either count.

"The _whole _family," he says, with much more conviction than he feels.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

". . . _Pegasus_?"

He very nearly slams the phone back onto its cradle. He very nearly lets himself admit defeat. He isn't ready for this. He can't face this. He can't face _her_. He can't. He just can't. There's no way, and he was a fool to think he could . . .

He remembers.

Those big blue eyes. Searching, hoping, _aching_. Who is he, to let something as trivial as fear stand in the way of his son's heart? To let something as selfish as anger, as pointless as grief, condemn his son to disappointment? Certainly, Seto isn't _his _yet, but that's nothing but semantics. Mokuba isn't _his _yet, but that's nothing but a technicality. He owes it to his boys, to those poor children who've somehow managed to remind him what it feels like to _feel_.

None of what Pegasus is straining to choke back right now has any relevance anymore.

He reaches into an inside pocket of his coat, fishes out the card Seto held so desperately earlier in the day, and draws in a deep breath. It doesn't settle his nerves—if anything, it makes everything worse—but he does it anyway. All part of the ritual. He conjures an image of his boys with the eye that _isn't _gliding over the card.

"Maime," says Pegasus, the familiar word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.

"_It's . . . it's good to hear from you_."

He supposes, if not for the practice afforded him by that old golden eye, he wouldn't have noticed the emotion in Toiréasa Crawford's voice. He might have thought she was being flippant. Saying what was _only proper _to say. But he knows better now. He can hear better now.

He can _feel _better now.

"There's no use pretending that this is . . . normal," he says, slowly, with none of his usual swaggering confidence. "I don't have excuses. I don't have explanations." He stops. Forces himself to breathe. "I . . . I _have _them. But I don't think they mean much, in the grand scheme of things."

There's a pause, as the moment breathes with him.

"_When_, _in all its history_, _has our family ever been normal_?"

The smile that slides onto Pegasus's face summons a burning sensation behind his eye. "I've missed your voice," is all he can make himself whisper.

He can feel _her _smile, too. "_How are you_, _darling_?"

". . . All things considered . . . better than I should be."

It's as close to honest as he can think to be. It wouldn't surprise him if she senses this, because she doesn't comment on it. Between herself and her most eminent husband, Toiréasa Crawford has ever been the more diplomatic and accommodating. Pegasus doesn't want to admit to himself that he's only carrying on this conversation because _she _answered the phone.

That he would have failed to put even the first words together if it had been _his _voice first.

The conversation continues, just as awkwardly, just as haltingly, for several minutes. He realizes partway through that his mother's voice is as soothing as it's ever been, that her words are a lullaby, and eventually he has something resembling his confidence again. It's a joke compared to the façade he puts on in public, but it will serve.

Before he realizes it, his smile is honest, and he doesn't want to cry anymore.

Not long after _that_, he wants to cry again.

". . . _are already asking your father when they can expect new games based on your cards_. _It irritates him, to say the least_. _But you know_, _I think he's proud_. _You've certainly been busy_."

"You . . . don't know the half of it."

"_Is that why you called_? _You still haven't said what you need to say_. _Have you_?"

"No. I haven't." Pegasus breathes deep again. Searches the little card for answers again. Wonders if he has any idea what he's doing with his life again. "This is going to seem insane. I've been lectured more times than I care to acknowledge by nearly everyone working here. I know I don't have the right to ask this. But . . . I'm going to ask, anyway: trust me."

". . . _Of course_, _Pegasus_."

"A while back, I took a trip to Domino City."

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Seto has never seen a pastry like the one presented to him as he settles himself on Pegasus's couch. It's thick, heavier than it looks like it should be, and there's crumbled bacon on top—the pastry, not the couch. Seto is mildly confused by this culinary creature, but he remembers to smile at the woman who hands it to him; she smiles back. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"You're quite welcome, little master."

Identical treats are handed out to Mokuba and Kristine. Coffee and tea come next, and eventually Pegasus comes sauntering into the room in a full tuxedo. He looks like a Victorian lord, except he isn't wearing a top hat.

"A thousand pardons." The master of the manor bows deeply and takes a seat. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting." Pegasus offers a winning smile to Kristine. "I know it's not exactly _proper_, but I hoped perhaps I could . . . impress on you how important I think it will be."

"Where, if I may ask, do your parents live?" Kristine asks.

"The house where I grew up is in Clark County," Pegasus replies smoothly, "in Nevada. But Maime—er, that is, my mother." He clears his throat, and Seto swears he can spy a touch of red coloring the man's cheeks. "She's said she would like to have dinner here." Pegasus gestures around himself.

"I see." Kristine frowns thoughtfully, and rubs at her chin. "Well, that . . . certainly simplifies things. You understand, I'm sure, that we can't just allow you to take them wherever you like. Until everything's been finalized, _we're _still responsible for them."

"Of course." Pegasus smiles again. "I wouldn't want to make things too difficult for you. Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but . . . given how much we've progressed so far, wouldn't it be valuable for us to _facilitate_ things? I should think that a holiday dinner with family . . . well. No. I'm sorry. That's taking it too far, isn't it?"

The slightest of smiles crosses Kristine's lips.

Seto takes a tentative bite of his pastry. It's sweet, but not overbearing. It's like a biscuit, but there's frosting. Some kind of syrupy . . . stuff. He licks at his lips, wondering if he likes this thing or not.

"That, my boy," Pegasus puts in, suddenly diverting his attention, "is a maple bacon scone. Because I am, in fact, _completely_ insufferable." He laughs, as Mokuba chomps down on his own scone and tears off nearly half of it. The younger Yagami hums to himself and does a little dance as he chews.

"Dinner with family," Seto muses to himself.

"Fam'bly!" Mokuba declares, and gestures dramatically with his breakfast like it's some kind of baton.

"Mokie. Don't play with your food."

Mokuba pouts, just for a moment, before he happily returns to the involved process of devouring.

Seto ends up drowning out a fair amount of Pegasus's conversation with Kristine, because it's mostly bureaucratic nonsense about whether or not it's okay for him and Mokuba to leave the county again. It mostly has to do with whether or not Pegasus says the right things to assuage Kristine's _concerns_, and Seto has gained a quiet confidence in his new guardian's ability to sweet-talk basically anyone.

He's young, but he's sharp, and quick. People have said the same thing about Seto himself. But _unlike _Seto, Pegasus has perfected the art of using his smile as a weapon.

True to his charge's faith in him, Pegasus quickly brings about an end to the conversation with a bright and chipper: "Excellent! This is wonderful! I'm so pleased we could come to an agreement." He reaches over and shakes Kristine's hand.

"Um," Seto holds up a hand, like he's in school, "Mokie needs to wash his face." Mokuba grins, his cheeks blotted with frosting, which makes Pegasus laugh again.

"If I may," Pegasus says, gesturing grandly to Kristine. She nods. "Come along, you two." He ruffles Mokuba's hair as he hops down off the couch. He holds out a hand, which Mokuba takes immediately. "Let's get you presentable."

Seto follows along, licking at his fingers, looking around at his surroundings. The house is big, tall and broad and grander than any building Seto has ever seen. The carpets are lush and richly colored. There's artwork all around: classical landscapes and portraits interspersed equally with animation cels and what looks like Duel Monsters drawings sent in by fans.

Each piece, whether painstakingly painted or scrawled with crayon, has been framed and placed with care.

Seto smiles, but it falters quickly.

"Um . . . Mister Crawford?" Pegasus makes an inquisitive sound in his throat. "Now that, um . . . everything's in order? I guess. We're definitely having Thanksgiving Dinner with your parents."

"That's right." Pegasus glances over his shoulder and winks. "This will be the first time I'll actually be able to make _use _of my dining hall. It's . . . kind of wasteful, don't you think, to eat alone in a place called a _hall_?"

"Heh. Yeah. But . . . well, I mean . . . do you think . . . ? What should I . . . ? I mean. Mokie and I don't . . . we don't _have _any . . ."

Seto feels his face go furiously hot, and he glares angrily down at the carpet, as if it's insulted him somehow. He specifically avoids looking at his old, battered sneakers. Mokuba stops walking, lets go of Pegasus's hand, and shuffles over to his brother. "Nii'tama," he says sagely, patting at Seto's arm. "Good boy."

Seto chuckles in spite of himself, and gives Mokuba a little hug.

As is his wont when talking seriously with Seto, Pegasus hunkers down and sits on his heels so they can look each other in the face. "Seto," he says, gently, and Seto looks up. "Would you like a new outfit to wear to dinner? Shall we spruce you boys up in your Sunday Best?"

Seto blushes again, but manages to nod.

Pegasus's beaming grin always makes him look even younger than he is.

"Well, all right, then."


End file.
